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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! May I please request something with a reader who's hosea's daughter and she starts a romantic relationship with either Charles or Arthur? (I can't decide I love those both those boys too much)

AN: Hi babe! I chose Arthur for this!

Warnings: implied smut

***

The moon hung high in the night sky and thousands of stars littered the empty space surrounding it. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen.

Cicadas and crickets chirped. Raccoons chattered from high up in treetops. Occasionally there was the sound of a coyote as it strayed too close to camp then scurrying away upon realizing that there were people nearby.

You made your way through camp, finishing your braid over your shoulder.

Everyone was settling down for the night after having a few drinks.

You moved towards the tent you shared with Karen and Sadie when a hand suddenly wrapped around your mouth from behind. An arm latched around your waist. Panic was just about to set in when you heard his voice in your ear.

“Easy there, pumpkin.” Arthur whispered. “Don’t want anyone to hear you.”

He let you go but held on to your wrist as he tugged you around to the backside of the wagons.

“Arthur Morgan!” You whispered his name loudly, hitting his arm. “Don’t you do that again! I almost had a heart attack!”

“Shh.” He chuckled, holding a finger to his lips. His hands found your hips and he backed you up against the wagon. “Don’t want anyone to hear you.”

You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him down to kiss him. He pinned your hips against the wagon with his own then brought his hands up to cup your face.

“Let’s go for a ride.” Arthur pulled away from you, his hand finding your wrist once more. He started to pull you away from the wagon but you stopped him.

“What has gotten into you tonight, Arthur?” You asked him, a little smile playing on your lips. You enjoyed his playful moods, but they were rare and it wasn’t often that they came about. Usually it only happened when he was drinking.

“I just wanna spend time with you without worryin’ about anyone, pumpkin.” He tugged on your hand.

“And you wanna go for a ride?”

“Yeah.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“How much could you taste?” He countered. You rolled your eyes.

“I’ll only go with you if you let me control the horse.”

“Oh, pumpkin. Come on. I wanna take you somewhere.”

“You can tell me directions.”

“Fine.” He grumbled. “Come on.”

Arthur guided you across camp to his horse. He helped you up onto the saddle and then got up onto the back of the horse himself.

***

Slipping past Bill on guard duty was easy.

The place Arthur took you to was just on the other side of the border of Lemoyne and New Hanover. The spot was along the shore of Flat Iron Lake.

“What’s special about this place?” You looked over your shoulder to Arthur as you brought the horse to a stop in the grass.

“Huh?”

“You said the spot was special. What’s special about it?”

“Well…. it’s away from camp.” He held his hand out for you. You got down from the horse and passed him the reins. He tethered the horse to a tree so it could eat grass while the two of you went closer to the water.

Arthur held his hand out for you again, making a grabbing motion. You furrowed your brows together before putting your hand in his.

He walked alongside you with your fingers laced together.

“I been doin’ a lotta thinkin’.”

“Uh-oh.” You giggled. “Should I be worried?”

“Yeah, probably.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

Arthur was silent for a few moments, so you looked over at him. He was looking out over the lake.

“Arthur, what is it?” You stopped walking and turned to face him.

He shook his head, eyes flickering down to his boots.

“It-It’s nothin’. Just stupid thoughts.”

“It ain’t stupid if it’s got you thinkin’ so hard I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” You reached up to cup his jaw. You brushed your thumb along his cheek. “Come on. It’s just me. You can say whatever it is you’re thinking to me.”

His eyes met yours and he nodded, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“I…. Y/N, I want whatever it is we got…. I want it to be real.”

You furrowed your brows together, tilting your head to the side a little.

“I thought…. Well, I guess I thought it was real.” Your voice was quiet.

“No, not like that.” He shook his head. “I meant that I-I want to be real. To have a real…. a real thing with you.”

A smile spread across your lips as you realized what Arthur was struggling to say.

“A real relationship, Arthur Morgan?”

He nodded his head.

“Now I-I put a lotta thought into it. Even talked it over with Charles. He’s a smart feller.”

“He is. You want this?”

“I want you.” Arthur slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you against him. “I ain’t felt that way about somebody in a long time.”

“Only if you’re sure–,”

“I am sure.” He cut you off, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” You answered without hesitation, holding his gaze. “Yes.”

“Okay then.” He grinned, large hands slipping down to your backside.

***

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon when you and Arthur returned to camp. You parted ways where the horses were hitched, leaving with only murmurs of goodbyes. It was bad enough you’d spent the entire night out. You didn’t need to risk being caught just yet. You’d tell everyone when you were ready. But neither of you saw Hosea Matthews–your father–watching from the opposite side of camp as you slipped into your tent.

Arthur wasn’t very fond of romance from the get-go, and being that you were Hosea’s daughter made him ever more hesitant to start anything with you. However, that changed when he got to know you better.

Being that you didn’t grow up in the Van Der Linde Gang, you didn’t know the outlaw the way everyone else did.

Though Hosea was your father, he didn’t raise you. He and his late wife and your mother, Bessy, had agreed that the life they had wasn’t suitable for a baby. So they gave you to Bessy’s sister and brother-in-law so that you could be raised in a proper setting and have a chance at a good life. Hosea and Bessy made sure to visit you when they could, and even after Bessy passed away Hosea continued to visit you and let you know that he cared about you. He wanted what was best for his only daughter. He didn’t want you to have the same life as him or to be subjected to the horrors he had faced.

But here you were, the newest member of the Van der Linde Gang.

***

You managed to only get a couple hours of sleep before Karen nudged you awake, warning you that Susan would be by to raise hell if you weren’t up soon.

You got dressed and went out to get a cup of coffee. You spotted Hosea sitting at a table reading through a newspaper, so you decided to join him.

“Good morning, Hosea.” You greeted.

“Good morning, dear.” He gave you a smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not too bad. I’m getting used to the nighttime noises so I’m not waking up so much. Anything interestin’ in there?”

“Not yet.”

“Mornin’, Hosea.” Arthur crossed through camp, heading for his tent. “Mornin’, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good morning, Arthur.” You smiled just a little before looking down at your coffee.

You wanted to tell Hosea about you and Arthur. Now that things were serious between you two, it felt like you needed to tell him. Before, you were just flirting and messing around. There was no need for anyone to know what was happening because it was just two grown adults keeping each other company. But now…. Now it was different.

You sat with Hosea for a bit, chatting about what was in the newspaper.

Then you noticed a group began to form around the horses that consisted of Javier, Charles, Arthur, Sean, and John.

“What are you staring at, sweetheart?”

You turned your head look at Hosea. You didn’t realize you were staring.

“Nothing, Hosea.”

He looked in the direction you had been staring in.

“Which one is it?”

“What?”

“Which one of them numbskulls were you gawking at?”

“None of them.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He shook his head, eyes lingering on you. When you made no effort to carry on the conversation, he reached into a pocket on his vest to check the time. “Your mother used to get that same look in her eye when she saw somethin’ in a shop window she wanted.”

Curious, you glanced up from your coffee which you had been staring at rather intently. You weren’t really reading anyways.

“She would?”

“She would.” Hosea nodded, a fond smile coming to his lips as his eyes left you to look out over the lake behind you. “And usually, I’d go back to the shop some time later when she wasn’t with me and steal it for her.”

“How romantic.”

“She thought so.” He chuckled. “She certainly knew how to put up with me and my antics. But she was about as good of a liar as you are, my dear.”

You put the book down on the table.

“I really wish you’d stop reading me like I’m one of your marks.”

“I can’t help it, sweetheart. It’s a bad habit. A very bad, nasty habit.” Hosea turned his head to look at the group of men gathered around the horses. “I don’t think it would be John. He’s far too dim for you. But if we go by brains, I don’t think any of them have a lick of sense. Well, except for Charles.” Hosea paused to gauge your reaction. You kept your lips pressed together in a firm line, adamant on not giving him any reaction. ��If it was Bill Williamson, I’d be disappointed in you.”

“Ew, no.”

“Good girl. Javier?”

You didn’t answer.

“Hmm. Arthur perhaps?”

You shifted in your seat and took a small breath. The actions didn’t seem that big, but apparently they meant something to Hosea.

The con-man leaned back in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck as he let out a little sigh.

“That dimwit, Y/N?”

“He’s not a dimwit, Hosea.”

“I swear, Y/N, I’ve seen fish with more sense than that boy.”

“Hosea.”

“I’m serious. Me and Dutch were real concerned about him. Well, that was until John came along. Made Arthur look a goddamn genius.”

You stood up and picked up your coffee cup.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Hosea put his hand out to stop you. “I know you’re sweet on him. I saw you coming back into camp together this morning.”

Your eyes immediately met his, panic finding its way into your veins. Then you looked over to Arthur. Did your father know what you were doing with Arthur while you were gone?

“I’m a little hurt neither of you told me, but I know why you kept it to yourselves. This camp ain’t the place for romance.”

“Hosea.” You whispered, eyes meeting his once more. “Don’t…. Don’t let Arthur know that you know, okay? I-I think he wanted to tell you himself. We just…. We didn’t want everyone here to know, and he’s…. Arthur’s a funny guy when it comes to being sweet on a lady.”

“Oh, I know. He’s had his heart broke real bad before. Don’t you think about breakin’ it, you hear? You’re my daughter so I’ll be sure to tell him the same, but he’s like a son to me, you know.”

“I know, Hosea. Don’t worry. I have no intentions of hurting him.”

“Good.”

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years ago

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 4:

You’re paranoid.

Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.

It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be.

On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you.

You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right?

Wrong.

You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.

Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital.

You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.

“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”

“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.

He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.

You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.

“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”

“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”

“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”

“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”

“No. ‘s an order.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”

Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.

“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”

“I know.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Walking.”

It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.

“No. You’re following me.”

“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”

The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.

Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.

“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”

Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.

“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath.

“You want me to help you sleep?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Not obvious.”

“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.”

You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in.

“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.

“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”

“And your shift always end this late?”

“Yes?”

“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”

“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”

“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”

“By who?”

“Weirdos, idiot.”

“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”

“I’m not following you-”

“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”

“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”

“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”

“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.”

“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”

“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”

“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”

“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.”

Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity.

“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?”

Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it.

Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing.

“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”

“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”

Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”

A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.

But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.

“Fine. I will. On one condition.”

“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.”

“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”

“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”

“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.”

“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.”

“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents.

“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”

“I said, no names, Bakugou.”

He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator.

“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”

“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”

If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him.

“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.”

“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens.

“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.”

“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.”

You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending.

Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.

You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt.

“Stop fuckin’ staring.”

“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”

“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”

You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.

You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.

Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.

You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him.

“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”

“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”

“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”

“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”

You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.

You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree.

When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.

“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?”

He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.

“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”

“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Who decided? You?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!”

“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin.

“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”

“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”

Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.

“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”

“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.

“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.”

“Criminals. Not victims.”

“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”

Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’

“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.”

“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”

“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.”

“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”

“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”

Your jaw drops.

“Bakugou!”

He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges.

He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.

“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”

His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed.

“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”

“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.

“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.

You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”

“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”

“I don’t want-”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”

“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”

“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.”

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.”

“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.

You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.

“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.

“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.”

“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”

You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.

“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”

“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!”

Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”

Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.

“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”

Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.

“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!”

“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.”

“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.”

“Really?”

“Really. Leech.”

“No thanks.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.”

“No, I really think I do.”

“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”

“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?”

The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”

“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”

“No name calling. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.”

With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to.

His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.

“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.”

“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.

“Since the last time?”

“Mhm.”

If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.

“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing.

You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.

After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house.

--/--

enjoy my lovelies :))

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simsadventures · 5 years ago

Text

Only Mine: Chapter 10: The Question

Summary: You want spend precious time with Natasha, who you haven’t seen in a while. Then an idea pops into your head, and Bucky is more than happy to oblige, before he asks you some important questions.

Warnings: implied smut, phone sex (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THE PART BETWEEN WARNINGS) fluff, swearing, mafia AU

Word Count: 3551

A/N: I feel like I haven’t updated in forever, so sorry for that. Not too much is happening here, I’m more preparing my ground for what is about to come next. Hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless. Tell me what you thought, you guys! I love this series so much, tbh xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

It was not that you didn’t enjoy your time at the mansion. You surely did, but after a few days (because of course Bucky didn’t let you leave just like that when he had all things he needed at one place) you felt like you could use some alone time. Or, more specifically, time with your own friends.

Bucky acted as if he couldn’t speak English when you told him that you’d like somebody to drive you home and that somebody could presumably be anybody else but Brock. Even though he stayed clear of you the whole time you spent in the house, it didn’t mean you felt any better about the guy. You still remembered his sly comments, and it never ceased to make you shudder.

Bucky tried to list all the advantaged of you staying there with him, and although constant sex and not having to cook did sound pretty good, you knew you had to leave, one way, or the other. It was also the end of the weekend, and as much as you liked Bucky and spending some quality time with him, your boss would probably not be too happy about you not coming to work the next day.

But most of all, it felt like a century since you last saw Nat. You were used to be with her almost every single day, just sharing stupid stories from work, and having a laugh about the stupidity of some people. But because you spent so much time with Bucky, you just didn’t have the time for Natasha. And you were feeling like the worst friend in the world.

Bucky’s protests were loud and clear, but your resilience was stronger, and so it was Sunday afternoon, that you finally managed to make him budge, and he actually let you leave the mansion. Not without a long and very steamy goodbye though. He insisted it was either a hot shower sex, or you not leaving his house ever again, so…

It was Peter who drove you back, and even though Bucky wanted to accompany you, he had some pressing matters to attend to, and, to be quite frank, you didn’t mind one bit. You enjoyed your time spent with Peter, because he was just such a sweetheart, and you wanted to get to know him better.

“I don’t want to pester you, Peter, and if you don’t feel like answering my question, you totally can stay quiet,” you said, while his eyes were glued to the road, probably because Bucky told him that if there was a hair wrong on your hair when he next saw you, Peter would be responsible.

“I’m an open book, Y/N. Ask away!”

“Alright. I was curious, as to what such a sweet boy, and so young, on top of it, is doing with Bucky’s gang. I mean, sure, you’ve got the power, and I bet the money ain’t that bad either, but you seem so smart, and I just wondered what made you decide for this line of work, really,” you mused, and waited for his reply.

You knew you were being nosey, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

There was a silence in the car while Peter thought about his answer, and you didn’t rush him.

“Uhm, well, my uncle used to work for Bucky’s father, he used to be his accountant, and because he and my aunt May raised me, it was one of those things that were almost given, you know? I tried to go to university, but it just didn’t feel right. So I quit and asked Bucky if I could help him out, and he took me in. Also, I wanted to help May. She is an amazing woman and after losing my uncle, I just wanted to help her out a bit, you know? And going to university, that would just drain her completely, and I didn’t have the heart to do it.”

You listened to him intently, your heart tightening in your chest for him. You could see he was ok with his fate, but, somehow, you weren’t. You wanted more for this sweet kid, and even though you didn’t really know how to achieve that, you made a mental note to try and help him and his aunt so that he could pursue a better career. Or at least one where he wouldn’t have to face death almost every single month.

Before you knew it, Peter was pulling over in front of your building. The street lamps were already lit, the dim light they were emitting setting a warm feeling in your heart. The sun was down, and only a few orange and pink clouds were giving away the beauty of the previous day. You kissed Peter’s cheek, which even in the hardly lit car caused him to blush so hard you could actually see it, and you giggled slightly.

You bid him goodnight and getting out of the car, you pulled out your phone from your purse, dealing Bucky’s number. He made you promise to call him as soon as you got home, and you knew you would have caught hell weren’t you to call him immediately.

He picked up in seconds, and you had to laugh in your head. He was such a softie, even if he never admitted it.

“Already missing me, doll?”

You could almost see the smirk on his stupid face, and you shook your head, unlocking the front door.

“Oh, that’s how it is now, huh? I thought you wanted me to let you know, but I guess I was wrong, bye, Buck!” You hollered, even though you had no intention of hanging up on him.

“NO” Wait! I was just joking! I’m glad you called, doll, you know me. I was just teasing you, that’s all. I’m happy you’re home and safe. Was the ride ok, or should I take care of the youngling?”

“Don’t you even dare tell him anything, joke or not. He’s mortified of you, and I don’t wanna be the reason you’re making him uncomfortable. The ride was perfect, and you should be glad you have such a sweetie amongst your men!” You told him, imagining him rolling his eyes at your comments. He always did this when you talked to him about his line of business.

“Right, because it’s such an important trait for a mobster, to be a fucking sweetie. Imma have to remember that one when I hire more men. If you’re not a sweetie, you can’t fucking work for him. You wanna kill him? Sure, but do it sweetly.”

You snorted out a laugh just as you entered your apartment and breathed a sigh of relief. You missed this little place. Your little safe haven.

“You’re such a dork. I’m just saying that he can actually act human, not like I can say that about all of your guys,” you took a jab at Brock and Bob, but continued right afterwards, not wanting to give him a reason to get angry again.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go, I think me and Nat are gonna have a glass or five, and then we’ll go to sleep. Hope you have a good night, babe,” you almost whispered, walking further in the apartment and spotting Nat sitting on the sofa, smiling at you with two glasses of wine ready. How she knew you were coming, that was a mystery to you.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear what you said there! Be safe and text me when you wake up. Night!”

You wanted to laugh at him for being such an overprotective boyfriend, but he already hung up. Bucky couldn’t make a friendly phone call, and that was why you always rather either texted him or spoke to him in person. His telephone persona was just too stiff for you.

“Hey there, stranger! I almost thought you moved there and that I had to look for another roommate!” Nat smiled at you sheepishly, and you stuck your tongue out, which made her laugh.

“Not my fault my boyfriend wants me all to himself,” you said, shrugging your shoulders, and Nat had to roll her eyes at you.

“Your boyfriend is a mafia boss, of course, he wants you to himself, babe! Anyway, how is life going in the mafia paradise, huh? He’s been treating you well, I hope. If not, I’m gonna go and kick his juicy ass!”

You wanted to take a sip of your wine, but Nat’s comment made you spit it out like a hippo, and your hand wasn’t fast enough to cover your mouth which made the white wine sprinkle everywhere on the sofa.

“You can’t say things like that! I could have drowned, for Christ’s sake! Anyway, a juicy ass, huh?” You smirked at her.

The rest of the night went similarly, you two were talking your hearts out about everything that has happened since you two had a proper girls’ evening. By the time it was 1AM, you were both giggling messes, slightly drunk but definitely happy.

And it was in that state that an idea emerged in your brain. You bid Nat goodnight and went to your room, picking up your phone and dialling the only important number.

—-

Bucky was already asleep when his phone started vibrating next to his head. He wanted to ignore it, thinking it could wait till morning to deal with the world and with the person being so rude as to call him so late at night.

But when he saw who was calling him, he sat up straight and didn’t hesitate in picking up.

“Doll? What’s wrong? Where are you? Should I come for you?” He was distressed, just the mere thought of you being hurt made him want to vomit. He could gut a person with his bare hands, but he couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering.

He heard a little giggle escaping your mouth, and your heavy breathing and his brows furrowed.

“You could come alright if you know what I mean,” he heard you say seductively, and his face was now wearing a look of utter confusion.

Warning, smut starting

“What? Y/N? Are you- are you drunk, doll?” He asked, his hand on his face as he tried to breathe through his slight panic attack.

“Maybe, maybe not. But I miss you, James, and I thought we could have a little fun, what do you say?” You were whining, and before Bucky knew what was happening a strangled moan left your lips, and the sound went straight to his groin.

“Doll, are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“Depends. What do you think I’m doing, James?” The way his name rolled off your tongue would be enough to get him off. He loved it when you called his name, all sweaty, with puffed up lips, parted enough he could kiss you deeply whenever he liked.

He growled as a response, and he heard you moaning again. His dick was already standing proud, just the thought of you making it all excited and ready for action. Bucky sighed and lied down, keeping his sleeping pants on, just freeing his aching cock.

“You’re teasing me, Y/N, that’s what you’re doing. So stop it, and tell me exactly what you’re doing to that pretty pussy of yours.”

He could hear the sudden intake of breath on the other side of the line and had to smirk at your reaction. He could have you gasping even if he wasn’t there to perform his magic

Few seconds passed before you regained your composure and actually started talking. Bucky was just intently listening to the sounds leaving your mouth, imagining what you looked like at the moment, and each image his mind created was hotter than the previous one. But he knew no matter what he imagined, the reality was ten thousand times better, and he seriously hated himself for letting you go home. He could’ve been balls deep inside you by now.

“I’m picturing you with me, James, the way your beard scratches along under-boob, and the way you suck on my tits when you thrusting deep inside me, hitting all the right spots as you go,” you said quietly, and Bucky could tell you were biting your lip, trying to stay as quiet as possible. But because you were a screamer, he knew you wouldn’t be able to keep that up for long.

Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t turned on by your little sighs and moans, and just the whole idea that you got drunk with your friend, and the thing you wanted to do at 1 AM in the morning was to call him and have phone sex with him.

“Yeah? And how does that feel, baby?” Bucky asked you, his voice strained from the effort of not coming right there and then.

“Oh, yeah! You feel amazing, James. So good and ohmygod… so sooo deep! Ooooh,” you were muttering and moaning, and Bucky couldn’t help it but let a moan of his own escape his lips. He could hear the whimper coming from your bed, and he swore under his breath. You would be his death, Bucky was sure of it.

The rest of the phone call was filled with both of you moaning and encouraging the other to speed up, to do it harder, and it 6 minutes, you were both hissing and groaning, coming together just as if you were actually sharing a bed.

Warning ending

For a moment, all that could be heard on the line was panting, both of you trying to calm down your hearts, and come down from your bliss.

“Well,” Bucky said when he regained his composure, “that was something else, doll. You alright?”

He could hear your sighs, and he could only imagine the blissful expression on your face right now.

“‘M fine. Tired, but oh-so-good. I’m sorry if I woke you up, I just needed to hear your voice.”

Your voice indeed sounded exhausted, and while Bucky cleaned himself, he mumbled on the phone, grinning like an idiot.

“Never apologise for wanting to have sex with me, phone or not. And if I ever tell you to stop, or to quit it, please, just kill me. Go to sleep, Y/N. You’re going to work tomorrow, and you should get at least some rest before you do so.”

You just hummed, and Bucky was pretty positive you were already drifting off, tired and satisfied. He smiled at the phone and mumbled a low goodnight before he hung up and went off to sleep himself. And all he could dream off that night was you being curled against his side, safe and sound.

—-

The whole day was a nightmare. Not only did you have a slight hangover in the morning, and your head felt like it would burst into flames any minute, you also came a bit late to work, which didn’t help your situation at all. Not that your boss minded too much, but still. You hated it when you were late.

By the end of the day, you wished you could be at home, taking a hot bath with your favourite scented candle, and let the whole day disappear from your mind.

But, obviously, Bucky had different plans, when it came to your evening, because as you got out of the office, there he was, standing like a statue surrounded by his men.

Kate and the others looked like deers in headlights, just standing there, confused and slightly terrified, with their eyes looking like they’d fall out if they moved. You just nodded their way and rolled your eyes at Bucky and his dramatic entrance into your personal life. He just HAD to come there.

You could feel all the eyes on you as you walked towards the black SUV and the infamous man standing in front of it. Only Nat knew about your relationship, and you thought you’d have a bit more time keeping in secret. But obviously, Bucky’s plans differed from yours and oh boy, would he hear about that one!

You didn’t even spare him a look, giving a small smile to Peter and Sam who were next to Bucky and you got in the car, shutting the door right behind you. You crossed your arms in front of you, clenching your jaw.

You didn’t even know why you were this mad. At first, you thought it was because you didn’t want to be seen with Bucky, his reputation preceding him. But then you realised that you didn’t care about that anymore. Sure, he was a gangster and he, without a doubt, did some things you wouldn’t even want to know about, but when he was with you, and with people he cared about, he was this amazing guy who would do anything for his people. And that’s what you valued the most.

It was that he didn’t even tell you he’d come and very obviously show everybody who you were seeing. It was your privacy as well as his, and you hated that he just made this decision without consulting you.

When he finally got in the car, he immediately turned to you with his eyebrows raised. You huffed out a breath and turned to face the window, not ready to have this fight just yet.

“Would you share with me, what the hell was that all about? Don’t I fucking deserve a kiss, picking up my girlfriend from work? What you so pissed about?”

You didn’t even answer him, not wanting to cause a scene in front of his men. Sam may have been his best friend, and Peter was still a kid, but you knew better than to lecture him in front of them. You just shook your head and waited till you got to your apartment so you could have a civilised conversation with him, which you knew wouldn’t happen in the car.

When Peter pulled over in from of your building, you said your goodbyes to the two in front and nodded at Bucky to follow you. He didn’t even question you, probably curious and pissed as hell you were still not speaking to him.

Once in the apartment, he followed you to your room, closing the door behind the two of you, and once again, raising his brows at you.

“You gonna tell me what’s got your panties twisted or should I fucking deduce it somehow?” He was pissed, alright.

You turned on your heel, facing him with a furious expression.

“Did I ask you to come and pick me up from work? Or did you just DEDUCE that was something I wanted and just fucking acted on it?”

His expression was blank, but you knew that a million thoughts were running through his mind.

“You still on about that bullshit that I’m not boyfriend material and people are gonna judge you? Thought we got over that! Thought you were ok with being my girl,” he raised his voice at you, and you flinched at his tone, but you weren’t about to be intimidated by him. No fucking way!

“And have you ever asked me to be your fucking girlfriend, when you’re running around like a macho, acting as if we were a solid item, huh?”

Bucky was stunned. He told you you were his, and all of that, but he never thought you’d actually want him to ask you to be his girlfriend.

He smirked and took a step closer, you taking one step back. You were not ready to make up just yet.

“I didn’t know it was required, doll. If only I knew, I would’ve asked a lot sooner! I told you you were my girl and you didn’t protest, so I took it you were fine with that. But if you’re not, fine. My beautiful, amazing Y/N, would you do me the honour and be my official girlfriend? Please?”

Well, that please really did that for you. Bucky, and pleading, you wouldn’t get anything better out of him, anyway.

“Since you’re asking so nicely, James,” you accentuated his name and smirked at him, earning a chuckle from him.

“You can be so fucking difficult sometimes. Why didn’t you say so in the car?”

“I was worried we would actually fight and I didn’t want to undermine your authority in front of the guys,” you smiled sweetly at him, and let him pull you in a hug.

“I’d spank your cute ass if you did that! Oh, and I came because I had another question on my mind. Is it a good time to talk to you about something else, or are you still pissed at your boyfriend?”

You swatted his chest lightly.

“What is it, my amazing boyfriend?”

He kissed the crown of your head and pulled you even closer.

“My birthday is coming up, and we have this tradition, that always on my birthday we organise a ball in some specific theme so that we can gather around looking dope as fuck and having a lot of kinky sex. Which, I hope, will be with you this year,” he added quickly, seeing your face turning red.

“Would you come with me, as my date?”

/Next Chapter >

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If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical ones. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think.

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purplehairedwonder · 4 years ago

Text

Inside a Broken Dream Chapter 5

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen Words: 3617 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Penguin, Jean Bart, Smoker, Tashigi Note: Story title comes from the Vertical Horizon song “Shackled.” Character and relationship tags reflect the current chapter. Obviously this is canon-divergent ;)

Warnings: There is an assault in this chapter. It’s not overtly sexual, but if that bothers you, avoid the italicized section.

Summary: Two years after Wano, peace on the Grand Line is fragile. Trafalgar Law and the Heart Pirates are doing their best to help maintain the peace, but when Doflamingo returns with Law in his sights, the balance of power entirely may shatter entirely.

Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Law was so startled by the revelation that he forgot his vulnerable position for a moment, eyes widening. Dying? He could have laughed, except—

“I’m going to fix it?” he echoed in disbelief, brain catching up with the other man’s words. “Why the hell would I do that?”

Doflamingo set his pistol down on the table—Law’s shoulders loosened at that—and reached down to grab Law by the collar and pull him upright in the chair he was bound to.

“For one thing,” he said directly into Law’s face as Law very carefully did not flinch. “It’s your fault.”

“Oh?” Law raised an eyebrow. “As happy as that would make me, when did I—”

“Dressrosa.”

Law blinked, momentarily confused, then recognition struck like lightning. “The Gamma Knife.” That was supposed to be a killing blow—and it would have been against anyone who couldn’t stitch their organs back together with strings. But Doflamingo had said that was merely first aid, not healing. It had been a patch job for the immediate damage to his organs but didn’t account for the—

“You have radiation poisoning,” Law realized. He hadn’t spent much time thinking about the long-term effects of the attack after developing it because he hadn’t considered that someone might survive for more than a few agonizing minutes. But it made sense. Interesting.

Doflamingo rose to his full height, forcing Law to look up at him. “The doctors at Impel Down discovered it not long after I arrived. My unique abilities have kept me alive longer than I had any reason to live.”

“But you’re almost out of time,” Law deduced. Radiation at the level Doflamingo had been exposed to from that attack should have killed him within days, if not hours. That he had lived for two years after the attack was downright miraculous. But even his impressive biology and the creative use of his Fruit couldn’t keep him alive indefinitely.

Doflamingo’s expression tightened, as if it pained him to concede, “Only the Ope Ope no Mi can cure me now.”

For a moment, Law was speechless as he processed what he’d just heard. Suddenly it made sense why Akainu had chosen now to sic Doflamingo on him; he didn’t have any more time to wait if he was going to play that card. But Doflamingo was, as ever, the Joker—a wild card.

And then Law laughed, hard enough that tears formed in his eyes. He knew the laughter was jagged with sharp, unhinged edges to it, but he couldn’t stop himself. It had taken an additional two years—fifteen years since that night—but Law had pulled the trigger after all.

Cora-san…

After several long moments, Law collected himself with no little effort, aware that Doflamingo’s veins were bulging in fury. But Law couldn’t bring himself to care. Doflamingo couldn’t maim the only surgeon in the world who could save him. And Law would need to use his abilities if he were to operate on the former Warlord, so the threat of another Seastone bullet was just that—a threat. Even the one in his shoulder would have had to come out eventually.

“Why,” Law asked, amusement still evident in his voice, “would I help you when I was the one to deal the blow in the first place?” Especially now that Doflamingo knew the truth about that night and Law’s revenge mission.

“For the sake of your crew.”

Law stilled, all traces of humor dissolving. “What?”

“I have two members of your crew in the brig,” Doflamingo reminded him. “How long do you think Penguin and Jean Bart would hold up under torture, Law?” He tapped his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’d bet on Jean Bart outlasting the bird, being a former captain and slave. But maybe he’ll surprise me.”

Fury, now uninhibited by Seastone, uncurled in Law’s chest. “No,” he snarled.

“No?” Now Doflamingo’s tone had turned amused.

“They have nothing to do with this.”

“They have everything to do with this,” Doflamingo sneered. “The moment you made them yours, they became mine as well. Because you’ve been mine since you were ten years old, Law. You know what kind of Family we are.”

“You son of a bitch,” Law growled. “You leave them alone.” This is exactly what he’d been afraid of when he’d sent his crew to Zou while he went to Punk Hazard on his own.

“Why would I do that? I know better than to think I could torture you into compliance. I trained you too well for that.” Doflamingo licked his lips in anticipation. “But your crew? I know you never did for them what I did for you.”

Doflamingo was right; he’d never treated his crew the way Doflamingo had treated his Family—valued for their usefulness to the captain. It had taken Cora-san’s death for Law to realize it, but Doflamingo was everything Law didn’t want to be in a leader. The only Donquixote legacy Law wanted to pass on was that of Cora-san.

The thought of Penguin and Jean Bart subjected to the cruelty he knew Doflamingo capable of, Law forced to watch helplessly as they suffered because of him, made Law sick. It was his job as captain to protect his crew.

But he also knew the danger of healing Doflamingo, knew what the man could and would do once he was no longer suffering from the effects of radiation poisoning. Doflamingo couldn’t have much time left if he’d been willing to risk stealing a Marine ship and kidnapping Law in broad daylight. If they could just outlast him…

“And besides the two in the brig,” Doflamingo added, “the rest are sailing right into my arms as we speak.”

Law bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. Though his first instinct was panic, he forced his mind back to logic. Penguin and Jean Bart might be captive, but the rest of his crew was free. They would fight. And if the Straw Hats were also on the way, Doflamingo would be outmatched, even with a ship full of Marines under his control.

“I put my trust in my crew,” Law said finally. “And my allies.”

“Even against a Buster Call?” The retort was immediate, as if Law’s response had been expected. (It probably had been; Law had constantly felt steps behind Doflamingo ever since he’d known the man.)

Law went cold, memories of Flevance surfacing in his mind’s eye unbidden. The gunfire tearing through bodies like paper, the blood flowing like rivers, the heat of the fire that consumed the hospital and Lami, the moans of the dying children he should have been among, the weight of the corpses pressing in on him as he fled…

That hadn’t been a Buster Call, but it had been close enough.

He thought of Nico Robin and the haunted looks that she masked expertly from her crew but never could disguise from Law when he knew them from his own mirror.

He shook himself, trying to force the images from his mind. “What?”

Doflamingo smirked widely. “What do you think Akainu would do if I sent word that I’d lured both the Heart and Straw Hat crews to one place?” He slammed a hand down flat on the table, and Law started, despite himself. The memories had cracked his composure, and he knew Doflamingo had seen it. “It may not be his original plan, but do you think that man wouldn’t take the chance to wipe out the both of you at once?”

“You’d still be dying in that case,” Law countered, swallowing against the bile in his throat.

Doflamingo tilted his head. “Perhaps. But at least I’d be taking you and Straw Hat and your nakama with me.”

The words struck a familiar chord. Law had felt much the same when he’d made his plans for attacking Dressrosa; if he’d died, so be it—as long as Doflamingo’s death was assured in the process. And now their roles were reversed. The power of a man with nothing to lose could be a fearsome thing indeed.

“But it doesn’t have to come to that,” Doflamingo added.

“If I do the operation,” Law supplied flatly.

“It would make things simpler, would it not?”

Law’s eyes narrowed. “My crew will be unharmed.”

“As long as you play your part, they won’t be harmed,” Doflamingo confirmed with a creeping smile that made Law’s skin crawl.

“And the Straw Hats? They are my allies.”

“Don’t push it.”

Law’s hands were clenched so tightly in fists that when he forced himself to loosen them, he found bloody crescent-shaped wounds in his palms. He absently rubbed his hands on his jeans, leaving bloody streaks on his thighs. He could try to push the negotiation further, but knowing Luffy, he wouldn’t care about or stick to a deal Law had struck anyway.

“Fine,” Law decided finally, the words strained. “I will treat the radiation poisoning only.”

He would not be cornered into the other operation. Law didn’t mind dying to protect his nakama, but he wouldn’t unleash an eternally-young and powerful Doflamingo on them—or the world. And he knew his crew and allies wouldn’t accept him making that trade either. It was the one line he wasn’t willing to cross to protect them—at the end of the day, it wouldn’t protect them or anyone else he cared for anyway. He’d even risk the Buster Call for that one.

Doflamingo nodded. “Agreed.” He eyed Law. “But to make sure you don’t get any more smart ideas before we reach Herrenlos, you won’t be leaving my sight.”

Herrenlos. Of course, Law thought as he remembered. It was the name of an island the Donquixote Family kept as a secure outpost in the New World in case they ever needed to flee their current locale. He’d learned all the names and locations of the Family outposts across the four Blues and Grand Line as a child. Law hadn’t thought about any of them in years since Doflamingo had been openly ruling Dressrosa while Law plotted his revenge. He’d asked Tashigi to find out where they were going, and she’d done so.

“Fantastic,” Law muttered.

-----

The longer Law was away, the more Penguin’s worry gnawed at his insides. The three prisoners had been brought their usual scraps for dinner, and when Marines had come to escort them to the bathroom, he’d tried to find out Law’s status but had only gotten an elbow to the gut for his trouble. Once night had fallen and his captain—his friend—still hadn’t returned, Penguin turned restless and started pacing his cell. Though he’d washed his hands in the bathroom, he could still feel Law’s blood on them from removing the bullet, and, though it wasn’t the first time, he’d never get used to that feeling.

“Would you stop before you wear a hole in the floor?” Smoker snapped. “Not all of us can swim.”

Penguin paused and glared at the Vice Admiral. “Easy to say when it’s not your captain being held captive by a madman.”

“No, it’s my partner and my men,” Smoker retorted coldly.

Penguin stiffened. Smoker had been commanding this mission when Doflamingo had taken it over, leaving his men under the string man’s control. And the swordswoman who’d taken Law away was Smoker’s partner; he’d forgotten.

“Right,” he muttered, sliding down against the wall again and burying his face in his collar. He could only be so sympathetic when the man had been leading a mission to capture or kill his captain in the first place.

He knew Law was more than capable of taking care of himself—he was a freaking Emperor—but he also knew there was a long, nasty history between the two former Warlords. And that history had been haunting Law since before Penguin had met him when Law was 13.

Having known Law for as long as he had, Penguin had seen and heard Law’s nightmares, had more than once held him as he came awake with whimpers or shrieks, his body wracked with tremors. He’d seen the haunted look in Law’s eyes, emphasized by the darkening circles under his eyes, and Law’s growing insomnia as he feared sleep, succumbing only when his body gave out from exhaustion. Once the original four Hearts had taken to the sea in the Polar Tang, Penguin had watched as Law stared at the skies and constantly looked over his shoulder, always wary of a flash of pink.

Penguin had also kept a careful eye on his friend once he’d returned from Dressrosa. After Doflamingo’s fall, some of the weight had lifted from Law’s shoulders and some of the shadows had faded from his eyes, but Law had never told even him, Shachi, and Bepo everything that had happened on Dressrosa. More than once, he’d caught Law absently fingering the ugly scar on his arm and flinching at the sight of guns and knew whatever had happened wouldn’t leave him so easily.

Law kept his pain to himself, tried to avoid burdening his nakama no matter how much they wanted to help him carry it—and so to know that Law, no matter how strong he was now, was once more in that man’s hands made Penguin sick.

Sometime during the night—it was impossible to keep track of time in the brig except for the visits of the guards and the sounds of activity above them on deck—the brig door opened. Penguin sat up, hoping to see Law, but it was the swordswoman.

“Tashigi,” Smoker said in surprise.

She put a finger to her lips. “I don’t have much time. I’m supposed to be going to the kitchens, but I took a detour.”

“Where’s Law?” Penguin demanded.

“With Doflamingo.” Penguin’s stomach sank. “As far as I know, he’s unharmed,” Tashigi added quickly, glancing between Penguin and Jean Bart. “But Doflamingo wants to keep an eye on him until we arrive.”

“Arrive?” Jean Bart asked.

“Where are we going?” Smoker prodded.

“An island called Herrenlos.”

Penguin frowned. “What’s that?”

Tashigi shrugged. “I don’t know. But it seemed to mean something to Trafalgar.” She looked at Smoker. “We should arrive sometime tomorrow.”

Smoker nodded thoughtfully. Tashigi, meanwhile, looked between Penguin and Jean Bart.

“Your crew is not far behind us.” She sighed. “Same with the Straw Hats.”

Smoker groaned, but Penguin and Jean Bart perked up. Penguin knew his nakama would come for them, but that they had apparently called the Straw Hats for backup as well was excellent news.

“Do you know what Doflamingo is up to?” Jean Bart asked.

Tashigi shook her head. “He sends me outside the room any time he talks about anything important.”

“Talks with who?” Smoker asked, leaning forward. “Law?”

“Him. And he’s been making calls on the Den Den Mushi.”

Smoker frowned. “Who would he be calling after two years in Impel Down?”

“I don’t know. Old contacts?” Tashigi twitched. “I have to go. Be careful,” she said, turning from the cells and leaving the brig.

“You be careful,” Smoker called after her, sighing as the door clanged shut behind her.

Penguin exchanged looks with Jean Bart. It was good that Law was okay, but that still didn’t answer what Doflamingo wanted him for. He supposed they would find out tomorrow.

He really hoped his nakama would hurry.

-----

Though Law had never been to Herrenlos, he’d seen the maps and base schematics—though that had been nearly two decades earlier. Still, the name had stuck with him; with its name meaning abandoned, the island had sounded haunted to Law when he was a boy. As the Marine vessel pulled into the docks on the island the next afternoon, Law took in the island through the window of the captain’s quarters and thought his younger self had been on the right track.

A rocky outcropping loomed over the beach, which was rocky rather than sandy and was scattered with desert flora. Atop the outcrop was the base—a warehouse with living quarters, from what Law could remember. The base was well-suited to defense from an outside attack… like would be coming from the Heart and Straw Hat crews.

As Law watched, the Marines, some under the control of strings and some moving of their own accord, started unloading cargo from the ship. Whatever items would be useful for stocking up the base, Law assumed.

Law flinched when one large hand came from behind to rest on his right shoulder, the other stroking down the left side of his face, tracing his line of his cheek—a facsimile of tenderness and affection.

“Stop that,” Law snapped then hissed in pain when a finger found its way into the bullet wound on his shoulder. His knees nearly buckled as the finger pressed into the wound, sending a jolt of pain down to his toes and drawing fresh blood, but Doflamingo’s unrelenting grip on his shoulder kept him upright.

“It’s time to go,” Doflamingo murmured into Law’s ear, his breath wet and warm against Law’s skin.

“Fine,” Law said through clenched teeth, gathering himself and turning on his heel. His shackles clanked with his sudden movement. He didn’t look at Doflamingo.

Doflamingo chuckled but let go of his shoulder and followed him. Tashigi was standing outside the door when Law opened it. She glanced back at him in surprise, eyes briefly falling to his left shoulder and blanching, but she was forced to walk half a step behind Law as a guard. Law ignored her reaction and strode forward. Doflamingo followed his two captives.

Neither Law nor Doflamingo slept the night before. For several hours after their tense arrangement had been reached, Law remained tied to the chair, stewing silently, while Doflamingo sat at the desk and looked over papers and maps and scribbled notes. Law very carefully did not think about how much this felt like sitting shackled to the Heart seat in Dressrosa, powerless.

Some time after night had fallen, Law started when he felt the strings confining him to the chair fall away. He looked over at Doflamingo, who had shifted in the desk chair to face Law, and raised an eyebrow. Rather than respond, the other man pointed a finger, and Law was pulled to his feet as a single string wrapped around his shackles and tugged him forward.

Law grimaced but didn’t fight the movement. He didn’t think it was worth picking the battle—not yet. He came to a stop directly in front of Doflamingo, Law’s thighs nearly touching the larger man’s knees. For a long moment, Doflamingo scrutinized Law from behind his glasses. Then he reached one hand, almost tentatively, up to Law’s face. Law inhaled sharply as Doflamingo’s hand cupped his cheek and tried to push back against the touch, but the string was still wrapped around his shackles and kept his hands in front of him.

“W-what—”

The hand slid from Law’s cheek to the back of his neck and fingers lightly brushed through the hair on his nape. Goosebumps erupted under the touch, Law intimately aware that Doflamingo’s large hand could enclose around his throat at any moment. Logically, he knew it wouldn’t because Doflamingo needed him alive, but his body wasn’t reacting to logic.

The fingers suddenly tightened in Law’s hair, and Law’s breath hitched as Doflamingo pulled back, exposing Law’s neck. Law swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Doflamingo slowly rose to his feet. He leaned over, as if to sniff Law’s exposed neck. Law’s heart hammered in his chest as his position became even more vulnerable.

Maybe he should have picked the battle after all.

“I always knew you’d grow up into something incredible, Law,” Doflamingo murmured.

“Funny,” Law replied, voice unsteady as he focused his gaze on the ceiling. “I didn’t expect to grow up at all.”

There was a huff of laughter against his neck, and Law suppressed a shudder. “I have always been good at cultivating potential.”

Law felt his irritation spike at that. “Yes, such great potential behind bars in Impel Down,” he retorted with a measure of satisfaction.

Doflamingo growled, predictable in his anger at any slight against the Family. The hand in Law’s hair tightened further then Law cried out as he felt a sharp sting in the meat of his left shoulder. His eyes flew wide, and he jerked back as far as he could with the string still attached to manacles. Breathing heavily, he looked down to see a bloody bite mark.

Furious, he glared at the other man. “What the fuck?”

“A reminder of just who you belong to,” Doflamingo simply replied, teeth bloodied as he smirked.

Law’s stomach turned. Doflamingo, seeming satisfied to have made his point, dropped the string from Law’s bindings. Law retreated to the chair at the table, moving only to clean up the wound when Doflamingo had thrown a towel in his direction.

When Law emerged on the deck, he was relieved to see Penguin and Jean Bart, as well as Smoker, standing by the gangplank, guarded by armed Marines.

“Captain!” Penguin called, relieved, as Law approached. His eyes narrowed as he saw the fresh wound on Law’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Jean Bart asked, having noticed it as well.

Law nodded, refusing to give Doflamingo the satisfaction of acknowledging it. “Fine. You two?”

“We’re good,” Penguin said, and Jean Bart nodded in confirmation.

“As touching as this little reunion is,” Doflamingo drawled, “it’s time to go.”

The Marine guards jerked into motion and grabbed Penguin, Jean Bart, and Smoker, pushing them toward the gangplank. Law and Tashigi followed, with Doflamingo bringing up the rear.

#Caitlin's fic #One Piece fanfiction #One Piece fanfic #Trafalgar Law #Donquixote Doflamingo #Heart Pirates

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ascottywrites · 5 years ago

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Best...Friends?

That Bad Friend Scott McCall tag really gets to me sometimes because even though the fandom kind of pushes it to an extreme, even before the whole Donovan and Theo business I can see how much of a suck-ass friend Scott could be. Like I don’t mean that friends should be up in each-others assholes during every given moment of the day but it is a horrible feeling to be cast aside like so much trash or easily forgotten and in cannon that happened more often than it should have for two people who call one another ‘family’.

And I know, extenuating circumstances, storytelling, ‘poor story telling’...yada yada, but I’m also a petty ass and sometimes I need to consume the distortion in the fandom to thrive.

**Also, lets be honest, sometimes the fanfiction is truer to the characters portrayed than the actual cannon. ijs

This whole post is also known as “I’m a petty asshole who lives in the south so doesn’t get enough opportunities to actually be a petty asshole.”

Anyway! On with the list! :

Steter:

On Edge by Bunnywest (Complete: 8/8| 23,707)

“What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone. "Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?" The sheriff's voice cracks, and Peter can tell he's out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn't blame him.

In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control. Peter's the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter's mate. Peter maybe hasn't quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he's damned if he's going to lose him to some feral alpha. He's going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan. It's Peter. He always has a plan.

pack of two by ScarSacrifices (one-shot| 1,735)

“You’ll be alright. No one can hurt you now,” Peter breathed out clutched the sobbing boy to his chest. Peter took a shaky breath and smoothed his hand down the boy’s hair making low shushing sounds as he did so. “Just listen to my heartbeat sweetheart, I’m here. You’re not alone,” he clutched him tighter, “not anymore.”

A Blowtorch? Really? by MysticMusic (Complete: 2/2| 4,757)

“He’s homicidal,” she sputtered.

“No, Allison. The witches are homicidal. He’s smart,” Stiles hissed, “and if you took your narcissistic head out of your ass for five minutes, you’d see something called self-preservation instincts. Seriously what the hell is wrong with you? A blowtorch? Really? How fucking stupid are you?”

Or, Stiles defends Peter when Allison attacks him with a blowtorch like a lunatic.

I'm Only Heard During the Silence Between My Screams by Irukashi_Narukib (wip: 42/?| 52,721)

Stiles thinks no one is listening, so he just... stops talking. It's just like that asshole Peter to refuse to take the hint.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter (Complete: 13/13| 32,124)

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Black Fire by Green (one-shot| 10,934)

Deaton is all about the balance of the universe, about order. Stiles's new magic - gifted to him from the Nogitsune - is the complete opposite of that. Deaton calls Stiles's magic "dark" and seeks to imprison him in Eichen where he's no threat to the balance. Peter and Stiles go on the run - but they can't run forever.

The Only Sound by Elpie (Horribibble) (one-shot| 4,407)

Stiles becomes acutely aware of the weight and vibration of his voice in his throat. He knows what volume feels like, and understands the intricacies of modulating it through context clues. If his voice shakes at first, no one seems to notice much.

Except Peter.

What It Takes To Not Be Broken by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 17,410)

He's pretty sure Death is nipping at his heels at this point.

But he has to stay awake, has to keep Gerard away from Erica and Boyd, the two Betas still tied up with mountain ash and electricity on the other side of the room, and it looks like they're trying to scream through their duct-tape, still, but he can't hear it, not anymore.

The terrible, all-consuming, staticky silence had over taken him after about the third time Gerard's lackey- Ben, he thinks his name was- had stuck a military grade taser to his ear, a low enough voltage not to cause brain damage, he'd said, because the point of this was for him to talk.

[Or: The one where Stiles is kidnapped and tortured by Gerard, and his injuries lead to a complete loss of hearing, among other things.]

Sterek:

Something With a T by Futureworldruler (wip: 10/?| 22,723)

It started when Derek showed up at his house with a car full of plants.

Or Derek gets help, moves in with the Stilinskis, and slowly builds a new life for himself

Alpha, Mage, Pack by Foxfire2018 (wip: 36?/| 401,116)

Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for. Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack. With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?

User Error by Poison_Love_Words (wip: 10/?| 37,767)

Given enough coffee and a few flirty texts from Mr.Bookish, Stiles could rule the world from his basement office at Triple S. That is until the day his best friend stabs him in the back for a pretty face and the (false) promise of fame and fortune.

Based on the Prompt: Omega Stiles is the real brain behind the up and coming tech company but Scott the public “face” starts to believe his own press and falls in with his new girlfriends bigoted family. He lets them talk him into kicking Stiles out of the company. And then Stiles gets revenge by going to work for the Hales.

I'll Bare My Back (If You Hold The Whip) by Kinkubus (wip: 5/?| 16,435)

After the fiasco with the Nogistune, which Allison barely survived, Stiles is pushed to the fringes of the pack. Alienated from his previous friends and abandoned by the Sheriff who can't deal with his broken son, Stiles slips further and further into a pit of despair. That is until he finds someone even more desperate than he is, and together they forge a bond that will revitalise both their lives and the lives of Scott's crumbling pack.

So this is my first fic and it's unbeta'd so any mistakes, please feel free to correct me. That being said, I have not paid attention to canon at all in this story. Allison lives. Gerard is dead, and so is Victoria but the Alpha pack hasn't arrived yet and to be honest the timeline is shot to pieces. Therefore please suspend your disbelief. This is primarily a story about Stiles fighting through all the odds to adopt the entire pack and cuddle them to death, whilst also feeding them healthy food because yes I know you've got werewolf metabolisms Peter but good eating habits are still important ok!

Choose! by Skeleton_Wolf (one-shot| 1,437)

Scott made him pick between his best friend and the pack that treats him like family. Is he really his best friend if he makes him pick? Can Stiles choose?

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 10,057)

Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but they're playing along, and- Gods, he's really going to be forced to do this, isn't he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family he'd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if it's forced, it'll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them.

Loving them.

He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that.

And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled.

[Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]

The One You Choose by Livinginfictions (Complete: 7/7| 13,440)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Not Too Late to Learn by bubblessunshinedelight (wip: 20/?| 30,596)

After 14 years Stiles realizes Scott doesn't really know him.

or Scott finds out Derek and Stiles are dating and is a dick about it...for a while.

You Belong with Me by halcyon1993 (Complete: 4/4| 19,656)

Derek is tired of watching Stiles get treated like crap by his so-called friends. When both the Hale Pack and the McCall Pack end up in the same nightclub, Derek decides it's finally time to convince Stiles that he'd be better off with him as his Alpha.

That thin line between right or wrong by orphan_account (Complete: 7/7| 15,718)

An AU based on the Donovan-storyline from Season 5A. After Stiles is attacked at the library and accidentally kills Donovan, he’s in shock, panics and runs. Hurt, confused, ridden with guilt and depressed, he wonders how it ever came to this point where nothing will ever feel right again. So, he decides to call the one man who knows won’t judge him. But will Derek arrive on time to save Stiles’ life?

This story basically alternates from most of Season 5, ignoring the rest of the series. Since I hated what they did with Stiles’ character after Donovan’s attack, I decided to change it all. This story is completely written from Stiles’ POV.

A Heavy Price by Estellestafford (one-shot| 4,202)

Every Emissary wants to work for the Hale Pack, Stiles just wanted to be Scott's but then Allison happened to get some magic so that was out the window and now he finds himself in office with some hot guy offering to make him an Emissary in exchange for fulfilling his desires.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 45/45| 66,227)

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

A Healing Silence by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 28/28| 36,329)

Stiles is slowly pushed out of the pack following his fight with Scott about Donovan's death. After receiving a phone number from an old friend, Stiles is surprised to find that it belongs to the one person who may be able to bring him back to himself.

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spiderparkerpeterman · 5 years ago

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headache

i typed this out after downing a coffee, forgetting i'm very sensitive to caffeine, forgot to save but then my laptop restarted for an update? so now i'm here four hours later bc i gave up on life, not so hopped up on caffeine but with a major headache and also it's 1am. enjoy!

content: stark!reader, fluff n cuddles, peter being a good boyfriend (tm)

warnings: lapslock, i've had to write this twice so i'm angry, post-endgame and yes this follows canon i'm sorry, feels, all the feels, angst and consequences of death, Tension

word count: probably less than my original draft (1528 words)

the jet ride back to the newly rebuilt avengers compound was quiet. the mission the reformed avengers had just been on was successful, an infiltration of a loose hydra camp, but there was a big hole in the team that had become apparent as soon as the mission had begun that left everyone in a tense silence.

missions were going to be very, very difficult now. teamwork-wise and mentally. emotionally. it had been, what, a year or so since your dad had... well, anyway. it seemed like such a long time ago- it was a long time ago- but you had been itching to go back out and do avenger-y things for months. leave it up to the starks to distract themselves from grief and pain by working their asses off. you had been tinkering, toying with your dad's old ideas, doing some minor patrolling stuff for a year, and god was it not enough to keep you distracted.

but then you had actually taken on the mission and then everyone noticed that there were a few missing links that almost cost the team the victory. your dad had been a rock, a point of leadership, an active brain on the team. capsicle had been someone steady, brave, always willing to take on the hard jobs. and nat- nat- she'd take out a room full of men three times her size with ease and still have breath to keep going until every last man was down. sparklefingers was off in space with a rodent, a robot, and a lovesick asshole; that marvel lady had disappeared as soon as she could; the wizard was back at his boys' club; robin hood had officially retired, even leaving his bow behind for the rustic life; and orange slices had said something about "making up for lost time" with his daughter, leaving only you, captain birdman, edgy amnesiac, smart hulk and a handful of ironsuits you'd created over your little break, to regroup and do the mission.

and peter, of course. you could never forget about peter. especially not when he was sitting next to you, your hand in his, jaw clenched, staring at his lap.

the poor kid. you knew your dad was also kind of his dad, the only father figure he'd had since ben. the kid kept losing father figures- probably some kind of curse, you had reasoned with yourself, because this was getting out of hand. you had been by his side when he decided to return to spider-man-ing, a month or two after your dad had... yup. done that thing. he had been by your side when you went into your dad's lab in his lakehouse for the first time since the incident, some four months later. you had his back after the whole mysterio-then-court scenario. he had your back when you had your first major panic attack because you realised that you just couldn't cope. you had each other's backs, you had for three, well, technically eight years now. since just after peter had been taken on by your dad to beat some sense into the others in germany.

coming back from the blip was weird. the entire situation was weird. you had been blipped, dusted, gone, worried and confused about your father being on a giant donut in space with peter, and then you had come back five years later lying on your dusty, unused-for-five-years bed, then the compound was blown to smithereens, you were saved by your suit that you still had on after helping keep the wizard safe, discovered your dad had moved out to the country and had also had another kid- who you loved to bits, of course you did- and also your dad had invented time travel.

and then he was gone, forever.

so yeah. massive hole in the team, everyone was quiet, peter looked like he was going to throw up, you were trying not to cry.

you realised peter was looking at you, and you had been staring at him for a little too long. he squeezed your hand, his eyebrows raised slightly. he looked like a kicked puppy, and oh god, your heart hurt.

"sorry," you mumbled, looking away. sam raised his head but averted his eyes when you accidentally made eye contact. you felt a headache coming on- all this stress about the mission and hole-in-the-team stuff was not good for your physical, emotional or mental health. you rested your head on peter's shoulder, feeling his head rest on yours in return. you closed your eyes, tuning out the sound of the quinjet, just focusing on your breath and peter's soft circles that he was rubbing into your hand.

at some point, you drifted off because you awoke to peter gently nudging your shoulder, the quinjet landing. you blinked blearily at him.

"you okay?" he asked, cupping your cheek. you closed your eyes again and leant into his hand.

"headache," you mumbled, turning your face into his hand and kissing it a light kiss. "i'll be okay."

as soon as you stood up to get out of the quinjet though, a wave of nausea washed over you, forcing you to sit back down.

"or not."

peter rushed to pull you up gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he held both of your bags in his other hand. he helped you out of the quinjet, into the compound and up to your room.

exhausted and sore, your head pounding like nothing else, you collapsed on your bed, absentmindedly taking off your wrist cuffs with your nanosuit in them, kicking off your shoes. peter puttered around, putting his bag down then your bag down then taking off his webshooters, shoes and jacket, pacing the room looking at you worriedly.

"do you need anything? like- like aspirin or water or juice or music? i head whale noises can help with a headache and-"

"peter," you mumbled.

"- but i haven't had a headache since i got my powers so i kind of don't know what to do and-"

"peter," you said, a little louder.

"- i think i should get you some aspirin, yeah, and i'll close the curtains, and-"

"peter!" you called, regretting it as your head pounded particularly hard. peter stopped pacing, and looked at you. "stop pacing, you're giving me motion sickness. and please- just keep it down, i just need quiet okay? you can go get what you want, some aspirin would be nice, and a gatorade too. but please calm down. it's just a headache, i'm tense and stressed. it'll go away soon."

peter nodded and rushed out of the room. you lay on your back with a small groan, staring up at the plain white ceiling of your room. before the compound had been destroyed, you'd put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of your bedroom with your dad, and you could look up and stare at the fake constellation stories you had made, giggling with your dad. now the ceiling was empty, strange, unfamiliar. everything was- you had lost almost everything that night. your eyes burned with tears, which you wiped away, keeping your hand over your eyes, fighting the need to throw up.

a few minutes later, you heard your door swing open as peter reentered. you took your hand away from your face and looked at him, balancing two boxes of aspirin and four bottles of gatorade in different colours. he smiled at you gently as he put the stuff on your bedside table.

"let's get you sitting up, yeah?" he whispered, the look in his eyes oh so tender. he sat behind you, resting your back and head on his side so you didn't have to move too much and took out two small aspirin tablets. "i didn't know which colour gatorade you wanted so i got you all of them."

"i'll have the red one, thanks," you replied, taking the tablets and then the gatorade that peter opened, swallowing the pills with a large mouthful of the drink.

you sighed and moved so that you were lying in his lap and looked up at him. you giggled.

"what?" he asked, and you raised a hand to poke at his jaw.

"how do you not even have a double chin from this angle?" you pouted, "it's not fair."

"spiders," he replied, "they tend to do that to you."

you giggled again and sighed again, closing your eyes.

"i should go," peter whispered, raising your head so he could slip away from under you. "you want quiet, yeah?"

"i never said i didn't want you in here," you muttered. "i'm in pain, comfort me."

peter grinned and obliged, maneuvering you so you were lying under your blankets then slipping in next to you. he lay your head on his chest and wrapped an arm behind your neck so you were secure. you rolled onto your side, an ear to his heart. his heartbeat was so steady, as usual.

"i love you, and want you to know that you did great today," peter mumbled, stroking your hair.

"love you too. you also did really well. thanks for having my back."

"any time."

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mcrmadness · 5 years ago

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I’m at the point where I’m being really annoyed by mornings again. Or more like, that particular time of the time when I wake up because I know most people would say that 2pm is no longer a morning... Anyway, I just get up every morning to do absolutely nothing just to go to sleep eventually again. And now each “morning” is boring af, I get up, brush my teeth and come to my computer, browse Tumblr and don’t know what to do. For weeks I’ve been watching certain types of videos from YT meanwhile playing with nonograms or jigsaw puzzles online because it helps me to concentrate as I don’t like watching videos of people talking, it’s super boring, but that way I can still listen to them without feeling like losing my mind because of being so bored. But now neither nonograms nor jigsaw puzzles feel thay interesting NOR do the videos I’ve been watching. There’s really not much new stuff, just the same topics done by many many people and I can’t watch that for too long before I get bored with the topics too, because I already know enough. I’ve also been going through all videos on so many different channels and either there’s nothing interesting anymore or I literally have watched everything. So now every day after being done with browsing Tumblr, I try to find something to watch from youtube but currently my recommended page keeps offering me the same videos over and over again, the same topics, and also lots of videos I have already watched. I’d love to see something very random that isn’t particularly linked to my watch history but no, all videos like that are something to do with the goddamned crona hashtags and they’re already driving me crazy because I’m so fed up with all this corona stuff. And I have made several posts about this already and how I hate the superficial fake-happiness in all those videos where people try to come up with stuff for people to do so that they’d just stay at home. I’m staying at home 24/7 even without corona, so can’t you just NOT show those recommendations for me??? Oh I wish Youtube had some sort of tag blacklisting system...

But yeah, apart from all that, I’ve been dealing with my existential crisis a lot lately too. Not that it’d have ever went anyway in the first place, but just having these partly existential crisis, partly dissociation/derealization moments that I don’t know if I’m ever going to get rid of. Just been thinking about my fave band (dä) a lot lately and how stressed out they make me all the time. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I’m not the best with surprises but I’m okay with them, but what REALLY makes (and has always made) me distressed is waiting. Knowing that something is about to happen but you have no idea when and how and possibly what. That is what makes me so distressed. It’s like with ghosts and paranormal things too: I’m not afraid of ghosts and I actually do like them a lot, but I’m afraid of being startled and waiting for something that might come as a surprise to me. (This is why I don’t watch horror films - jumpscares are much worse when I know there will be some.) And I’ve started to hate the weekdays from Monday to Friday because I feel like I can rest only on weekends because maybe those guys won’t do anything during weekends. During other days anything is possible. And now they’re gonna open their webshop on Friday and it’s causing me SO MUCH PRESSURE here. And it’s again not that I’d be worried of what it is, but worried of the fact I am waiting for something now but I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I always need to be in control and ahead of everything, whenever I go to a new place, I need to have a look around the whole thing before I can do anything, and I really wouldn’t like the idea of being dropped right in the middle of action. That just makes me so overwhelmed and I start to panic.

To the existential crisis - I’ve also been wondering about myself and why dä? Imagine if the band was something else but this. And the fact this band is a “once in a lifetime” thing. There’s never been another band like them and never will be. Which is crazy and blows my mind. And this is where I start to dissociate with derealization because I somehow still feel like everything is a movie or a video game. I’m constantly thinking like “oh maybe in my next life I’ll be born earlier so I can become their fan in the 80s” or “maybe in my next life I’ve learnt from my mistakes in this life”. I basically feel like my life is like a video game that I can restart whenever I have played through the story and do different choices then. And some days it hurts so much to be dropped back on ground. But I will just climb up again and escape into my small bubble where things are not like that.

Also this other day I was wondering the age thing again. I’ve been having age crisis at least since I turned 25 because then I was closer to 30 than 20. And I’m turning 29 in less than a month and that had been so terrible thought for so long but now I’m slowly getting used to it. Even tho I still wish I was 19 or something. But at the same time it feels really absurd because I feel like... ten years ago I was 19, and that doesn’t sound that much but I still feel like last year was 2010. And me wishing I was 19 again... well when I was 19, most of my friends were not even teenagers yet. So that means I would not know those people. But then I feel like I’ve been wasting the last 10 years of my life. And if I was smart, I’d realize that I actually have not been wasting those years - I have been working with horses, studying horses, graduated and I’ve grown a pretty good knowledge over what it is to take care of and even train horses. I have got and learnt so much. But still I feel like I should have done that a lot earlier than what I did. But if I did it a lot earlier, then I wouldn’t have had work experience worth over 10 years. Which is why I wish I could have just stopped time for the time I was studying and continue then after I was done. Because I’m literally in the middle of an age crisis because I’m turning 29 but I basically feel like I’m near my end already. It’s like what my friend told me when I was 22 and started having similar thoughts: “You sound like you just discovered what people normally discover only when they turn 50.” Yeah, I’ve literally been having mid-life crisis since I was 22.

For the first time even I experienced some derealization moments was when I was 19 and working at a stable and I was cleaning up the stable and taking out a wheelbarrow full of horse shit. It just suddenly hit me that what I’m doing here, makes absolutely no difference. And I suddenly dived into this horrible state where I felt like nothing I do, matter because nothing will last. Like, why should I create memories if I’m gonna lose them anyway when I die? That really made it so hard to enjoy anything because I was just constantly obsessing with the thought of not having my memories forever and how everything felt so, so damn pointless. I don’t care if people know my name or not, I live for myself anyway so it felt really unfair that I should actually live here and do things and create memories if they are going to be taken away from me eventually just because everyone has to die. And I have always had really bad relationship with death. I remember being probably 7 years old and seeing something on TV about death and cemeteries and it caused me to have one of my earliest anxiety/panic attacks and I was literally sitting on the toilet floor hugging the toilet because the idea of death made me so, so sick. Which is why I then have been avoiding the topic as much as I can and I’ve been blocking those thoughts and stuff and why I love every time death is portrayed as non-permanent in fiction (my all-time favorite is Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice). Or when there’s some sort afterlife. Which is why I’ve been obsessed with ghosts and grim reaper and whatnot in my past. It just comforts me so much because I find it so scary to think that everything would just stop existing. I can kinda imagine that... emptiness that happens when nothing is anymore and it just feels so overwhelming and scary that I nearly start to panic from the thought alone. As a kid, I’ve been having panic attacks from the thought of the sun going out, a meteor hitting the earth, or just pretty much anything that would mean almost instant death. I feel like I probably developed derealization also for this type of fears. If the idea of death has made me physically sick at the age of 7, no wonder why my system decided to come up with dissociation to protect my mind. I always feel like when I keep having these deep thoughts, that my brains are on the edge of overheating (figuratively), it just goes so over my head but at the same time I’m understanding it, which then triggers dissociation because it’s too much to deal with.

I also have a medical trauma from when I was 3 years old, which is probably the core for all the dissociation too. It was an open heart surgery which pretty much means being half-dead already as you’re connected to the machines that keep up your breathing and blood circulation while the doctors fix your heart. Because of that, I find the thought it anesthesia highly disturbing. I know people undergo surgeries all the time for whatever reasons but I feel like I could never ever do one again because I’m so afraid of that emptiness becoming permanent. I can’t remember a thing from my surgery nor how I went to sleep or anything like that, but as an adult, I just find that so scary and I’m always really scared whenever I know people who are going to have anesthesia because what if they don’t come back? I know trans people who don’t have other option but to undergo some surgeries and I’m like... I’m nonbinary afab and I’d be happy to donate my own boobs away any minute but I could never ever go to a surgery from my own will. I rather just fantasize of a bodyshape that I don’t have than would actually do something about it because for me that would just not be an option. I sometimes wonder that if I had dysphoria or if I was trans, would I still feel the need for surgeries? Or what if I have dysphoria but I just don’t see it, because I can’t do anything about it so I just escape into my inner world and try not to think about myself? I do have some sort of body dysMORPHIA, tho. But I don’t know if I hate my body or if I just see it wrongly. But whatever the case, I try not to think about it too much, I avoid mirrors and spend most of time in my inner world. Because the outter world is too overwhelming and depressing to deal with and my existential crisis can’t take it.

#mcrmadness' random stuff #personal #tw deep thoughts over death and existence #(no need to worry - just pondering these themes)#existential crisis #derealization #dissociation #long post

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ninatheauthor · 5 years ago

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Challenges

In this post, I’ll explain how Basima was created, the biggest problem I faced and how I tried to resolve it.

Background

When I made headcanons with canon characters in summer 2016, I created a new character during that period. I found a name, described her appearance and ethnic origins. I had vague ideas about her purpose in the canon universe ; she was a soldier and Squad Leader in the Survey Corps for no particular reasons.

Two years ago, I’ve developed Basima for another story. I wasn’t interested anymore in SNK, therefore I wrote nothing concerning the manga and its canon characters.

Then, I’ve had a sudden rush of nostalgia about SNK just few weeks ago: I fell in love again with the story and my favorite characters. For the first time in nearly four years, I thought seriously about my OC within the canon universe. I’ve done research to fabricate a profile for Basima. It’s not easy to fill in but I’ve been doing my best. The profile is still in progress as I’ve not published yet the second second part with Basima’s history, her relationships and a trivia.

Pairing an OC with canon characters without making them act OOC

While writing Basima’s backstory, I imagined a sort of love triangle evolving into a triad between her, Moblit and Hange. The love triangle plot is cliché but it I kept the idea. Basically, it went like this:

Moblit and Hange are close - they aren’t dating but they have a close bond

Moblit and Basima are in an intimate relationship (friends with benefits)

Everyone except Hange knows about it

Hange discovers the relationship a year later

They’re jealous about it, tensions arise between them and Basima

Basima confronts them after they overstep her boundaries

Moblit explains he cares about them and Basima

Hange apologizes, Basima accepts their apology

Basima is harassed by MP soldiers, Moblit and Hange rescue her

Hange and Basima get closer after the incident

The triad is formed

My reaction after I realised how awful this scenario was:

I had to take a step back, ask myself “What should I do?” and correct my mistakes.

1. Develop Basima’s personality

Once I did it, I could imagine clearly how she would react in various situations. I tried to have the same amount of strengths and weaknesses.

2. Don’t forget about Moblit and Hange’s own personalities

According to Attack on Titan Wiki:

“Moblit came across as an intelligent and responsible person, which may have been the reason he was tasked to keep his overzealous and eccentric superior out of trouble. Much of the time, this left him in a state of near-panic, having to constantly remind Hange to be more careful or yanking her to safety. That he remained at her side constantly suggested he was a loyal person, regardless of the stress involved with being under her command. However he was able to show signs of a serious nature when it came to missions, such as the time he twisted Peaure's hand when he was taking notes[4] or when he held Djel Sannes' chair down when he was being tortured.[5]”

This is a good description. I came across this interpretation from snkirschtein, which I find very interesting:

“Moblit is very meticulous, and very observant, which translates to his work as well as his everyday life. He picks up on the smalls things, which can help him decide if someone is trying to get one over on him or if someone is trying to manipulate him or another. He is good at reading people. He’s also very careful with his words. He’s very smart, especially with people, and knows what to say or not say. It makes him charming in a way people often have trouble understanding.”

Imo Hange is probably one of the most stereotyped and misunderstood characters in this manga. A lot of fans tend to only view them as a “crazy researcher who loves Titans”. They forget about other aspects of their personality:

“Hange is a genius, using her brain to create weapons, tactical plans, and inventions for the benefit of humanity. As a leader, Hange is thoughtful of her comrades, and can easily figure out complex problems in order to create plans for her teammates to carry out. On a less cheerful note, she can use this genius anyway she can, being able to easily manipulating people to do what she wants in order to benefit humanity (...)” (source)

“Though Hanji loves titans, they also love and care about their comrades/humanity. They can be vengeful, and willing to do what it takes in order to protect someone they care about. They also take threats to those they care about very seriously. So all-in-all, let’s not forget about that serious and protective side that Hanji also has.” (source)

3. Don’t erase the canon relationship between Moblit and Hange

“To Hange, Moblit was her right-hand man and went everywhere with her on almost all of her business, an important friend, and comrade. Even though he was under constant stress, Moblit fulfilled his duty to keep Hange out of trouble to his last breath.” (1)

“(...) Even so, he cared about her and in his final moments, put her safety over his.” (2)

In this post, Anon asked “what Hange would want/need in a romantic partner” (who’s also an OC). The description also reminds me of a certain canon character:

“Hanji is definitely someone who needs to be taken care of. Though they can be independent, their regard for their personal safety is kind of nonexistent, what with the way they recklessly get close to titans and etc. So someone reliable (makes sure Hanji takes care of themselves), caring, level-headed, and/or quick-minded would go really well with Hanji.

“(...)The OC just needs to know when to relent, but at the same time keep a close eye on Hanji in case they need to step in and get them out of trouble.”

“(...) If anything, I could see someone who doesn’t mind letting Hanji talk their ear off while they focus on other things at the same, grunting and humming every now and then to let Hanji that they’re still listening or etc.”

“When asked what type of partner they’d be interested in, Hanji said “Someone who is fine even if I can’t pay attention to them, I guess”. Which, in my opinion, means someone who isn’t very needy or clingy, and needs attention constantly.”

4. Write about the polyamorous relationship in a realistic way

Basima was a comrade of Moblit and Hange. Through the years, she became friends with them. Hange thought she was an attractive lady ; it didn’t surprise them when Moblit told them he wanted to get intimate with her. Contrary to what people thought, they totally approved his relationship with her.

It looked like this: Moblit and Hange are close - Basima and Moblit are close - Hange and Basima are good friends

After the passing of her best friend, Moblit and Hange gave Basima moral support. They helped her to regain self-confidence and believe in her abilities. At some point, Hange really wanted to kiss her lips, do inappropriate things with their subordinate and friend. That’s when they realised they were screwed up.

The trio discussed over the matter: what would happen? How do they qualify their relationship? Eventually, they decided to keep the relationship secret. Friends and comrades - basically everyone within the Survey Corps - noticed that something happened between the three of them. Hange nicknamed their subordinates Habibi and Habibti. Basima kissed them both on the cheeks when nobody was around. Moblit often drew the Captain and Officer together. They quarreled, disagreed on certain topics. Sometimes, they were fed up with each other. They always made up after having an argument. In a nutshell, the triad lasted several years.

Hange and Moblit were shattered by the deaths of their fellow squad members. They lost comrades, long-time friends and a significant other.

#snk oc #moblit berner #hanji zoe #mobuhan x oc

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jay-and-dean · 6 years ago

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Love me once, shame on me Chapter 5 : Scream.

Dean x named reader (is this a thing ?)

Love me Once, Shame on me MASTERLIST

Serie Warnings : Violence, swearing, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex (you are smarter than this), Fluffy fluff.

Chapter warnings : Violence, swearing, angst, smut (oral), fluff.

Words : 6.9k

Chapter summary : A scream saved her life. A scream made her his. A scream he hold back. And all the screams in their heads.

gifs not mine

It's 4am. The bunker is so silent I swear I could hear my own shattered heart beating. I can't sleep...

It's been 4 months now, 4 months since Dean kissed me and I told him to go. He never tried again. With me, he never got close again.

The first time he went out with a stupid giggling waitress, I had a panic attack. A silent devastating drowning-in-tears panic attack. I spent the whole night imagining him thrusting in that slut, biting her jaw, leaving bite marks all over her... I puked a lot. I took a cold shower and almost accidently killed myself with sleeping pills.

But Dean found a girl almost one night in two since then... All sorts of girls. Now it's become a habit : I go to bed and cry, I get up in the middle of the night and do something, anything, then I get exhausted and take pills.

We came back from a hunt yesterday, and yet he already found someone for tonight. My sweet baby have kind of become a slut, even Sam is freaking out, asking him what is wrong with him all the time.

I get up and rub my eyes, readjusting my long sleeves t-shirt. What am I still doing here ? Why do I inflict this to myself ? I should go, at least, away from Dean I wouldn't know exactly when he is giving himself to anybody.

My feet meet the cold ground and I decide to head for the kitchen. I'm hungry. When Dean told us he wouldn't be there tonight, I couldn't eat, and now I know anything I'm going to eat I'm going to puke, but I'm hungry anyway.

The light is on, and Dean is right here.

I stop, looking at him with a mix of relief and extreme anxiety. He's making a sandwich and drinking a beer. When his eyes meet mine, he looks like a deer caught in headlights.

"Why aren't you sleeping ?" he asks almost in a reproachful tone.

"Why are you here ?" I groan.

"Well it's my kitchen."

"Do you want me out of your kitchen Dean ?" I ask with a cold voice.

He looks down. And hands me the knife.

"Peanut butter ?" he says pushing the jar toward me.

We eat in silence. As he stuffs his mouth with enormous bites I remember that time he choked on a burger, I was panicking because his eyes were crying and his lips went blue for a second, but he recovered fast enough to make fun of me, his voice still hoarse, and everyone looking at us because I was screaming like an anxious mom.

"How was your... date ?" I ask.

He shrugs and stays silent. It's better this way, I don't know why I'm talking about this, I must be a masochist.

"I would have preferred a date with you" he shrugs again and I look up at him, incapable of swallowing my bite.

I lift my eyebrows and he smiles, taking a sip of his beer.

"What ? You know I do..." he just says like it was nothing.

I swallow painfully, my throat tight, and sigh. I put my sandwich down and drink the large glass of water in front of me.

"Talk to me about your ex. You said he was a hunter, do I know him ?" he suddenly asks and I have to sit.

He takes two beers in the fridge and follows me to the table.

"Why do you want to know ?" I ask sadly.

"We're friends, and you know everything about me, you read the Supernatural books and you live with us. I introduced you to all of my friends, you even fucked me in the restroom of a shitty bar..." my heart pounds in my chest at his words. Did I really fucked him ? Is that how he sees that ? "And you still don't want to talk to me about that guy who broke your heart."

I take a shaky breath, I have to be careful.

"I was a lonely kid, you know..." I start, barely believing what I'm about to tell him. "I had a shitty childhood..."

While I tell him the story of how that guy came into my life, I watch him watch me. The deep worn out green of his warm eyes piercing my soul. I try not to give him any clue, and I try not to think too much about what I am saying, because I would break down if I would. I don't know how long I talk, but he listens carefully.

"We were so happy. Everything was perfect. I could have died for him just because he asked. And I felt like a queen at his arm" I smile. "Sex was epic and I was horny all the time" I laugh slightly remembering how true this is. My body wanted him all the time, like he wanted to become one with him. "Onesunny summer day... I remember that day... We had a weight off of our minds because I feared to be pregnant and I wasn't. So we had sex outside of my trailer, out there in the sun, for hours, and he get sunburned..."

And just like that, my smile dies on my lips and a shadow of despair darken my face.

"Later that day, I went shopping, I wanted to buy some cream for his burnt back and ice cream because we talked about getting some all day... The drugstore was closed and I texted him that it would take longer than I thought because I had to find another one... I... I didn't want him to peel... I just didn't want him to be in any kind of pain... When I came back..."

I take a shaky breath and feel my eyes shine with held tears.

"He had left a note."

"A note ?" he asks, clearly captivated. "What did it say ?"

I clear my voice, hearing in my head the echo of the deafening sound my heart made then.

"The note said it was over" I whisper.

"How could it be over like that. Did he explained ?" he asks.

"He talked about the almost pregnancy, about the future. He said it was going too far, too quickly. He said he didn't know if he loved me as much as I loved him, and that this relationship was scaring him... He said he needed space, freedom..."

I wipe a single tear with my sleeve and shiver at the contact of his hand suddenly on mine.

"But you were like... Bonnie and Clyde, or Dirty Dancing's Baby and Johnny..." he says and I can't help but smile a bit at his words.

"I felt my heart explode..." I say sadly. "I felt my world crash down. I tried to call him but he didn't answer. I tried to call a hundred times maybe, and he cut his phone... So I screamed. I screamed in the night like someone was torturing me... He was actually."

Telling him that is becoming salutary, and I can't stop now. I take his thumb in my hand and squeeze it.

"I screamed so much I think I fainted at some point. I never felt a pain like that... Then my brain went off. I..." Slow tears run down my burning cheeks, and Dean stroke my shaking hand. "I went to the bathroom and puked, I think I was in shock. I... I brushed my teeth. I remember brushing my teeth like it had any fucking significance. Then I went back to my bed and took the knife he offered me. It was very sharp and made to cut through skin, monster skin..."

"Jay..." Dean says with a very sad voice, making me look in his eyes for a second.

"I just..." I sob. "I just couldn't imagine a life without him. I loved him so much..."

I breathe to stop sobbing, and clear my voice.

"I cut myself deeply. I cut myself so deep one of my fingers still can't feel anything, because I cut a nerve. It was horribly painful but I just didn't care anymore... After a few moments it became hard to breathe, and I fell asleep I think..."

I let a short silence, biting my lips.

"Apparently someone had heard my screams and called the cops not long before that... I woke up in a hospital, alive by chance as they said... I wanted to die so bad I tried to jump out of the window... So they sedated me... It took me a few months to be allowed to go out all alone. When I finally could, I went to my trailer. It was exactly like it as always been, except my blood was rotting on the sheets. I took a bag with just minimal clothes, my toothbrush and a few pictures of him,... And I burnt it down. I stayed there and watch my home burn before I left for good."

Silence falls on the kitchen, I just hear his steady but deep breathing. I try not to cry but tears keep coming down my face in silence.

"Did you heard of him after that ?" he asks low.

"Yeah..." I smile, squeezing his hand, focusing my eyes on the lovely freckles on his knuckles. "I saw him again years after..."

"I know you don't want me to talk about him, let alone... But- but I think I would punch him if I saw him" Dean says about himself.

My head hurts.

"He just didn't love me like I loved... love him. And he told me from the beginning, that he wasn't a boyfriend..."

"But after that he told you he loved you... And he... Anyway... Thank you for opening to me." he says.

*******************************

2005

"So the teacher asked to... Are you listening to me Dean ?" she says, making me look up at her wondering face.

"Yeah... Of course."

"No you weren't... You had your head in the clouds. Is there something wrong ?" saying that she comes next to me and strokes my arm gently.

"I'm sorry... I was thinking about... About Sammy."

She kisses my cheek and sighs. I think about him a lot lately, maybe it's because Jay reminds me of him sometimes, maybe it's because I would really love them to meet, I know they would get along so well...

"I'm sure he is okay, Dean... What you said about him, how smart and brave he his... I'm sure he's doing great, even if he misses you for sure."

I take her in my arms and nuzzle in her neck. She smells so good.

"Stop that, you're tickling me..." she laughs, letting her all body fall on my arms.

I take her off the ground and lay her on her bed. Her skin is a bit sweaty from the very hot day despite the fresh shower we took together less than an hour ago.

"Dean, we just had sex in the shower and I have homework to do..." she says while my hands travel from her collarbones to her covered breasts.

"I want you again" I groan.

She smiles, kissing my lips, and bites her delicious lips. Taking her covered nipple in my mouth I spread her legs to lay between them. She moans and take my hair in her hands as usual, telling me how she wants me close to her with her fingers. I take her tank top above her head and smile because she didn't put her bra back after the shower.

"I love them..." I say kissing her chest, sucking purple marks all over the plumb skin of her breasts.

She moans and tug at my shirt, arching her back in a soft wail. When I sit up to take it off, I stay up for a while, admiring her flushed face, the sun piercing through the window and enlightening her shaking stomach, and my claiming marks appearing all over her chest. She already told me once, all embarrassed, how she loves to see the signs of me on her after we had sex, confiding, her face hidden, how horny it made her.

I start undoing her shorts and taking them down. I love that she feels comfortable enough with me to take off her long jeans and large hoodie when she comes home, staying in shorts or panties all the time. I love that she lets me see and touch her body all I want. And I love her body.

She’s naked now. Her legs spread and her arms on the side of her delicious body. She doesn’t hide from me anymore. Sometimes she’s still shy, like when I look at her for too long or that time we had sex from behind for the first time, and I was looking at my cock disappearing inside of her again and again. But I always manage to make her proud of herself, because she can see how hungry I am for her, how perfect she is to me.

I bend to kiss her and go down her chest again, kissing her tits I grow hard.I always do. I didn’t know I was so drawn to breasts before her, but there is something about the intimacy of her letting me feasting on her skin that makes me go crazy.

I know what I want right now, I’ve dreamed of it often, sometimes nibbling at her chest actually.

I want to go down on her.

But until now I knew she would freak out. I knew she wasn’t ready for it as she always told me how awkward she felt when I was looking at her intimate parts, how uncomfortable I knew she was when I kissed her too close to it.

She’s ready now. And I’m starving.

I kiss my way down, her hands still in my hair, her breath steady and loud. My hands roam all over her skin until I reach my goal, spreading her thighs wider.

“Dean, what are you doing ?” she asks, suddenly worried, trying to close her legs.

“Trust me baby” I just say kissing her folds.

She jumps a little, almost crushing my head with her thighs.

“I… I don’t know this is awkward. I… I don’t think I’ll like that. You don’t have to do this Dean” she whines.

“Baby please just relax. I want to, I really want to… This is not awkward, just…” I feel my mouth watering. “Just trust me.”

I slip my arms around her legs to keep her open, and lick once, twice, reaching her clit. She jumps again and wails, letting go of my hair to cover her face.

I lick at her gently a few times, tasting her juice for the first time and I can’t help but moan.

“This is…” she starts. “I don’t… Wow !”

She stops talking when I starts eating her out for real. I can feel how tense her legs are, I can feel how she won’t let herself go. So I work harder.

“How does it… Dean ?” she tries, unable to speak clearly. “Dean ?”

I lift my head to look at her.

“How does it...taste ?” she finally asks, worried.

I smile. My shy little baby, so she’s concerned about that… I go up her body and kiss her. I kiss her deeply to make her taste herself on my lips and she moans again.

“Delicious baby” I say looking in her eyes.

She touches her lips and smiles shyly. When I go down again, I can feel her body relax a bit.

After only a few moments of licking and kissing and sucking at her clit, I know she’s close. Her hands come back to my hair and her knees fall wide open. I take her legs and put them on my shoulder, giving myself a better access to her entrance.

“Dean…” she whines. But this time not to make me stop, far from it. “Fuck, this… Ah!”

My heart is pounding and my head is dizzy from arousal and the lack of oxygen I inflict myself to keep my mouth on her. I’m not using my fingers, no way, I want her to fall apart like this, she’s so close.

Suddenly I can feel her thighs become slippery, sweat breaking though her skin, her pussy clenches around nothing and her back arches. When I devour her even more fiercely, she comes hard.

She screams for the first time.

Her orgasms are always so silent, her voice stuck in her beautiful reddened throat, and I love that she doesn’t act at all, letting her shaking body show me how much she loves what I do to her. But this time she screams…

I wipe my mouth and climb back to face her. I kiss her lips and she pants in my mouth.

“Wow baby, I think everyone heard you miles away” I smile.

“I’m sorry” she says absently.

“No, no, don’t be… That was incredibly hot. So… You still think you don’t like it ?”

She wraps her legs around me and tries to rub herself on my still covered crotch. I love when she's like this, high on desire.

“It was good… Okay, it was incredible. But it made me crave Dean… I need more now. Please.”

I groan and open my jeans the fastest I can. Before I can come down to her, she takes my face in her hands.

“But what about you Dean ?”

“What about me ?”

“What makes you scream ?” she asks and I feel my own shyness flush my face. “Do you want me to go down on you ?”

I half laugh half whines thinking about it.

“Not today baby.”

“Is it has special for you than it is for me, that sensation ?”

“Mh… Yeah I guess.”

“Will you teach me ? Dean I want to make you scream…” she says biting her lips and I kiss her.

“I will. But right now I need to be deep inside of you” I pant.

“One last question and you can have me all night…” she says.

Saying that she takes my cock in her hand and I let my head fall on the crook of her neck in defeat, panting and thrusting gently in her hand.

“Do you hold back Dean ?”

I lift my head and stop my hip movements.

“What ?”

“I may be new at this but I’m not stupid. You didn’t want to hurt me the first times we did it but you keep holding back…” she says looking in my eye.

“I don’t…”

“Yes you do. And thank you for being so attentive. But please baby I need you to let go…”

“No, Jay, you don’t… I’m a man... I’m horny and stupid, I don’t want to hurt you” I admit.

“I need to be enough” she states. “I need to know you truly… And I need to be the one who gives you what you need. Please.”

I sigh and bite my cheek. I want her so bad right now, I need her. I would do anything she asks.

“You are enough” I say kissing her deeply.

With that I take her hips and thrust in her forcefully. She gasps and I stay still to look at her. She’s not in pain, just surprised and overwhelmed.

“Let go baby. Fuck me. Take me like you need” she whispers in my ear and I groan low.

I start to pounce in her, my arms tight around her, making her look so small. I have to trust her, she’ll tell me if she needs me to stop.

Since I know her I’m horny all the time, I never had sex so much, and yet I always want more. She’s turning me to a beast : jealous, possessive, needing to have her for myself, to mark her, I never was like that. As my feelings for her are growing, my appetite grows too. I can’t stop touching her and kissing her.

I think I love her, and I want to yell at her for making me feel that way.

I fuck her because she asks. But also because I needed to for a long time.

She's clinging to me with both hands, not touching my hair anymore, both her arms under mine, hands on my shoulder.

"Fuck babygirl..." I groan hoarsely on her neck.

A shark pain on my back makes me roar and bite her neck, she's digging her nails in my skin, deep. As I thrust hard, I have to hold her because she's sliding upward, pushed by my forceful movements.

For once I don't see her orgasm coming, and when she cries my name, convulsing and holding me deep strongly with her thighs around me, she takes me with her. I can't breathe for a moment, filling her up.

The sun is going down slowly, and the light is now orange, making her hair slightly red. I'm on my back, still naked and she's nestle against me, also naked.

"You know what Dean ?" she says playing with my hand. "I think the sun is making more freckles appear on your hands."

She kisses my fingers and keeps my hand on her lips.

I didn't move for at least an hour because she apparently decided to examine me neatly. She apologized for the scratches on my back, showing me the blood under her nails with a pout, and started looking at every inch of my skin. She kissed my stubble on different spots to find her favorite and, once she had, she played with my hands.

I never felt so pampered.

"You know what baby ?" I say and she lifts her eyes to look at me through her lashes, not moving her lips from my hand. "I think I love you."

************************

"You two are up already ?" Sam says entering the kitchen.

Dean looks at his watch and smile. It's 6am. We talked all night.

"Will you run with me ?" Sammy asks making breakfast.

"Not today, Sam. I didn't sleep at all, I need a short nap" I rub my eyes and sigh.

I take my pillow in my arms and squeeze it. I still can't sleep. How did Dean do that ? How could he torture me by spending another night with a girl, come home, make sandwich and get to have me confide in him ? I hate him so much. With his perfect face and his heavenly smell. Fuck him. He sincerely said he was sorry, that he would punch the guy for making me suffer so much. This is confusing.

2pm. I still haven’t slept but I’m not brave enough to get up. I heard Sam talking to Jack in the hallway and I stayed on my bed in a fetal position, holding my pillow tight in my arm.

A ray of light invade the room as someone opens the door slowly. Footsteps quietly join the bed behind me and I feel the mattress sink next to my back.

Dean.

His manly sweet smell surrounds me like the wings of an angel. Oh please, I'm not ready to see him again… His hands bushes my shoulder and I shiver.

“Jay” he whispers, gently pushing hair from my hidden face. “Are you hungry ? I cooked.”

“That’s sweet” I say with a husky voice from not talking for a long time.

“I’m sorry I woke you up” he says low.

“I wasn’t sleeping…”

“Yeah, you rarely are.”

I open my eyes and look in front of me, his shadow adorning my wall. I can see the dark print of his arm lift, like he was about to touch me again, then he lets it fall beside him. When his shadow moves again, it is to bend on me. I only realize what he’s up to when I feel the soft touch of his lips on my shoulder.

I can’t move.

His lips barely brush my shoulder before clearly kissing the same spot again. Then he kisses my cheek. My heart is pounding, I’m holding my breath. Another kiss just below my ear, and another. His hand comes on my side and wonder on my stomach, his lips don’t leave my skin now, I can feel him breathing shakily through his nose.

The only reaction my body allows me is to join his hand on my shirt. He freezes for a moment, and when I don’t take his hand off he slightly pull on my shoulder to turn me toward him.

He is beautiful. The light making a halo around him.

He bends again and, this time, he kisses my lips. Shyly at first, like he was trying to tame my temper. I still don’t move so he does it again, capturing my lower lip in his with a light sigh.

He just had sex with someone, like, 15 hours ago. I hate him… But I need him.

As if this were their natural home, my hands come up to his hair, my fingers run through it and for a second I forget.

When he bends again, I give him full access to my mouth, opening it to let him kiss me like he seems to want. His delicious tongue bringing me back to life. He deepens the kiss and starts to run his big manly hands on my sides.

Then something hits me.

I can’t lose him. If I have him again, and lose him, I’ll probably won’t need to kill myself because the pain will end me anyway.

I push at his shoulders and turn my head.

“Dean, stop that.”

He sighs loudly, and let his head fall before sitting straight. He rubs his face with both hands.

“I’m sorry Dean. I can’t.”

“I know” he whispers. “I’m just… I…”

“If you want me out of the bunker I would understand” I say trying to sit up without getting too close to him.

“What ? No ! Of course I don’t want… Listen I’m the one… Fuck. I’m the one that should leave you alone. You already told me you didn’t want me. It’s just… I’m sorry I shouldn’t tell you that but… Forget it.”

“You shouldn’t tell me what Dean ?”

His beautiful eyes lock to mine and, as I get used to obscurity, I can discern guilt there.

“I just… want you. I’m sorry, I’m a horrible friend.”

My heart breaks a little more to hear that. I reach his cheek and he leans on my touch.

“You’re the best friend I ever had. You just want more than I can give you. I’m sorry” I murmur, hating myself.

That cute Latina police officer is hitting on Dean. She’s looking at him with her most radiant smile while he explains why he needs some access. This girl is a stunner, even dressed for work.

Sam has that look on his face, half annoyed half amused, the one he wears when a girl shows interest in Dean. Often.

I try not to let my emotions show, and look behind her to try and read some information on the file she let opened on her desk. Once she gave Dean the key, we head to the door.

“Agent ?” she calls and Dean turns back. “Since you have my number, maybe you’d like to call me and have a drink… tonight ?” she bites her lips and I want to bite her carotid.

Dean smiles at her and, without realizing it, I clench my jaw, ready for another punch in my chest.

“I’m flattered, but married” he says and Sam’s eyes widen.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn't know, agent.”

When we reach the Impala, Sam asks in a mocking tone :

“Do we need to call your wife or can we hit the road ?”

“Hilarious Sammy” says Dean while I take place on the back seat.

“Seriously Dean” Sam laughs. “What is wrong with you, that woman was very attractive…”

Dean turns the music on and offer him an insolent smile of his.

“Short and respectful way to say no” he mutters, turning the volume up.

Raising his beer to his lips Dean closes his eyes in satisfaction. This bar is actually nice, the music’s not too loud but loud enough to create a warm atmosphere, people seem relaxed and happy, I think it’s a birthday on that corner.

“That case was too easy” says Dean, making Sam roll his eyes.

“Too easy ? We’re on it since Monday ! And a teenager almost got killed again” Sam sighs.

“Almost” Dean objects proudly. “Jay saved the boy.”

“Hum excuse me.”

I turn my head and my eyes meet with turquoise ones. A charming man is smiling down at me.

“I certainly don’t want to seem rude” he has a charming English accent. “But I was wondering if I could buy you a drink… Unless one of these gentlemen is your partner.”

Dean is about to open his mouth when I answer.

“Only working partners.”

He smiles and his eyes don’t crinkle so much, they are too blue, and his tone is too polite… Everything reminds me he is not Dean.

I feel Sam give me a little punch under the table. When I lift my eyes on him, he mime “Go” in silence.

“I don’t know, I hum… Okay” I say getting up.

I don’t really know what he is talking about now, his job maybe, I switch off a few minutes ago. Poor guy, he is actually nice, but I can’t focus. I wonder if Dean is paying attention to us, if this will push him right in the arms of a one night stand ; I wonder why he turn the pretty police officer’s offer down, if he really wants me like he said and what it means…

“Hey” Dean’s familiar voice makes up come back to Earth.

He stand just beside me and I feel his hand discreetly slip on my lower back, his thumb stroking the reachable skin between my belt and my shirt. Why is he doing that ?

“Sam and I are going back to the motel. If you want to go back, anytime of the night, call me, I’ll pick you up…”

I know he’s trying to tell me to come back with him, I know his hand is saying I want you, have sex with me instead. And to be fair, every inch of my body is telling me to throw myself at Dean, each of my fucking cells yelling in unison for me to forget why I can’t give in to him… But my heart howls, my shattered-in-thousand-bloody-parts-heart is in pain with each beat.

“Okay Dean, I’ll call if I need.”

I honestly don't know what I'm doing here. That guy is nice but I just want to be anywhere else. I feel like I'm cheating on Dean and making that lovely man waste it time, I want to hide, alone, under a blanket or even in the woods.

"I'm sorry" I finally say. "I... You seem to be a nice guy but..."

"But your heart is taken" he cuts me with a knowing look.

"Broken actually" I sigh." I should go home. Thank you for the drink. I'm sorry."

The night is dark. I walk on the side of the road, my phone in my hand. I didn't call Dean right away, I walked alone a few minutes, thinking.

I thought about that first time Dean told me he loved me, and that one time he told me he'll love me forever.

I thought about how hopeless I was when he left, how empty the whole world was, how painful each breath...

The roar of the Impala stops beside me. Before I can open the door, Dean comes out. He looks pissed.

"Why didn't you call me sooner ? What happened ? Why are you on the road ?" he asks, frowning.

"I just wanted to walk a few minutes, Dean, no big deal" I shrug, trying to look unimpressed.

"You're lost in the middle of nowhere, what if a car had stopped ?"

"Dean, I'm a hunter, I'm not afraid of the dark."

He bites his lips with what looks like anger and gets in the car.

His eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel, Dean drives in silence. I try not to look at him too much but it's nearly impossible.

"I thought you were saving yourself for the douchebag who made you suffer years ago" he snarls through his teeth.

I can see a shadow of regret darken his face the second he pronounce that sentence.

"I..."

"I'm sorry" he says softer, not letting me answer.

"I didn't have sex with that guy you know" I say looking at his profile. "I mean I don't have to answer to you for anything I do but since you're implying..."

"I'm not implying anything, forget I said that. I'm sorry."

I know Dean, I mean I knew by heart, and I know he acts like that when he's afraid. What is scaring him so much ?

Sam is asleep in the bedroom, and when we enter the room he only turns on his side. They found a nicer motel than usual, with a sort of living room and a bedroom. Sam is sleeping in the big bed and I can see Dean was lying on the couch. I close the bedroom door to let Sam alone.

"You can have the bed..." Dean says low. "Sam is tall but this bed is giant. And I don't recommend the couch."

"Okay" I just say.

I don't want to sleep with Sam, I don't want to know Dean is alone on the other room, on an uncomfortable couch. I just want to take him in my arms and caress the spot on his neck that makes him relax, while he sleeps on my chest... I take a shaky breath and head for the bathroom.

When I come back, Dean is sitting on the sofa, rubbing his neck. Something's wrong with him, he's afraid and sad. And yet he has to sleep alone on this old mattress. My Dean...

Before I can think twice, I sit beside him.

"Are you okay, Dean ?" I ask with the most gentle tone I can use.

"Yeah, of course. Why ?"

I can't tell him how much I know him.

"You look tense."

"Yeah this hunt was rough" he lies.

My all body is screaming at me to take care of him, so my hand comes on his knee.

He freezes and looks at me. I turn a bit to face him and smile warmly.

"I don't save myself for anyone, Dean. I just have nothing left to give..."

He bends and catches my lips. It's like his lips are draw to mine.

I can't let him have me with his heavenly kisses, I have to stay in charge.

Before he can move his hands I put mine on his crotch, making him moan in surprise on my lips. I start opening his belt and he takes me in his arms, rubbing my sides, his rough fingers trying to lift my shirt but I don't let him, and slip a hand on his boxers.

"Fuck" he moans on my mouth, making me instantly wet.

When I wrap my hand around his cock again after all this time, it all comes up.

I remember the time when, in the course of a conversation, we looked on internet to learn more about male anatomy, he thought he knew everything... we had so much fun.

I remember holding him tight when I made him come with my hands, or with my mouth, how desperate I made him ; and the first time I actually made him scream.

My mouth is watering.

I start slowly pumping my hand, making him break the kiss to look at me. He's already panting slightly and I can't help licking my lips. When he bends to kiss me again, I allow just a little peck on my lips and fall off the couch, on my knees between his legs.

"What... Jay. Wh..." he starts but I pull at his jeans to take them down a little with his underwear.

I missed having him on full display. I take him in my hand again and lick his length from the base to the head.

"Fuck !" he tenses.

Licking again I swirl my tongue at the head and take it between my lips. He looks down at me, stunned, his jaw clenched. When I slowly take him in my mouth, I flatten my tongue to touch the more skin I can. His fist close and his stomach moves in contraction, I know I'm doing it right.

I remember him guiding me, telling me what everything I tried felt like, I remember learning to make him come fast or slow, to make him beg.

Sucking on his cock, I let my hands wonder on his balls. He almost let out a scream, and harshly puts a hand on his mouth. I take him deeper and deeper, until my nose touches his pelvis and my throat hurts.

"God Jay..."

I know exactly what he likes, what he loves, what he can barely endure. I learned on him. And repeatedly, I play my favorite partition.

"I... can't..." he moans out of breath and I know he needs to come.

One of his hands comes to my head and he takes my hair in his fist, he's holding back with all his strength not to thrust upward.

"S-Stop I... Fuck... GOD !" he holds back a scream.

With that I feel ropes of cum flood my mouth.

He looks down at me, panting and shaking, releasing my hair he rubs his face. I smile and get up to straddle him, I take him in my arms and swallow loudly next to his ear. He moans again.

"Wow, that was the most... Where did you learn... God" he starts without ever finishing a sentence.

I'm starving. I need him so bad I could cry right now.

"Touch me, Dean" I whine, nibbling at his jaw. "Please touch me."

He bends and kisses me again, not minding at all to taste himself on my lips. He never did.

Then I feel his fingers slip inside my panties and run along my pussy and my head falls backward.

"Fuck you're soaked. Is that me that..." he doesn't finish because I'm already nodding.

"Dean..." I moan, not believing whining this name again. "Dean... Please."

He slips a finger inside me and I violently clench around him, desperate to feel full again. He adds another and I fall on his chest. I kiss and lick his jaw, wailing in his ears.

"You're incredible, baby. I'm already hard again" he says.

If I wasn't so high on him, the nickname would have had the effect of a slap, but I just retain that he was hard.

"Fuck me" I beg in a shaky whisper.

With that he's up, lifting me with him, and he carries me toward the table. He puts me down just a instant to take of my clothes and sits me on the table, my legs wrap around him and squeeze to take him closer.

"I hope Sammy sleeps deeply" he murmurs.

I don't get to answer as his cock bottoms out inside me. I let out a strangled cry and take him in my arms to cling to him. His thrusts are fierce, their force and precision surprise me, making me feel innocent again, in the arms of a tall manly warrior.

We won't last, he's already quivering and pouncing quicker and I'm holding back my own orgasm since that first sharp thrust.

"Stay with me Dean..." I cry, nuzzling in his neck.

"I'm right here" he pants, not getting the measure of my words.

And I come. My voice die in my throat but my body screams and implores him. I'm on the verge of passing out.

Groaning low he comes for the second time, digging his fingers so firmly on my hips I know I will be bruised.

We stay still for an instant, I don't lift my head because I can't look at him right now, it would make me cry. I feel him soften inside of me and I silently beg the universe to let me have him forever. I have a lump in my throat, and my poor heart is sobbing, begging me to stop torturing him.

"That was..." he tries but his voice makes me jump.

I push him gently to make him withdraw and get up.

"Perfect to unwind" I finish.

I get on my tiptoes, still butt-naked, to kiss him.

"Yeah..." he whispers.

And I disappear inside the bathroom.

When I surreptitiously comes under Sam's blanket, I hear him clear his voice.

"I thought you would stay with Dean after that" Sam says turning.

"Oh Sammy I'm sorry you heard..." he hums. "I don't... we're not. It was just this one time..."

"And the other" he adds.

"He told you..."

"He just told me, yeah" he says. "You have quite an effect on him."

I hide my face and turn my back on him to hide the tears. We stay silent for a moment.

"Night Jay."

"Night Sammy."

Night Baby, my mouth mime.

Feedback is what keeps me going <3

@tftumblin @mirandaaustin93

#supernatural #dean winchester #smut #fluff #spn #supernatural fic #fanfiction #dean x reader

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therubyjailcell · 6 years ago

Note

11 and Drarry off the love prompts! Ah my god like the passion wooo

11 is “with a shuddering gasp”, and I know, I know you probably expected smut or something, but my brain decided otherwise. Sorry.

Also sorry about the time it took to write it.

“Well?”

Draco was staring at Harry with that unimpressed face, one eyebrow raised and mouth quirked slightly downwards. Harry looked down at his hands, fidgetting. It was stupid, he knew, but right now, he felt like a little kid being scolded. He did deserve it though.

“Harry James Potter.”

Harry winced slightly at that. Full name. That wasn’t good at all. He cleared his throat softly, still refusing to meet the blond man’s eyes as he spoke.

“I told him he could rot in Hell for all I cared…

- You… Idiot. Seriously?”

Had Harry look at Draco, he would’ve seen the amusement in the other man’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. He felt very ashamed right now. Saying that kind of things to the Head Auror was not a good idea, even when you were the Savior. But Harry was impulsive and when he was angry, not much could stop him from saying what he thought. Well, no, actually, not much could stop him from saying what he thought pretty much all the time, point. Usually it wasn’t an issue, as he was fairly patient, and when he wasn’t, he had his friends around him to stop him from going too far, but in the Head Auror’s office, he was on his own, and pretty angry, and he had lost his temper.

“See, that’s why I can’t leave you on your own., Draco sighed, You always get in trouble without me.”

Harry chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked up and locked gaze with the blond. He didn’t look angry anymore. A little amused, maybe. But that didn’t stop the panic Harry felt rising to grow, and his eyes started to fill up with tears. Which didn’t go unnoticed. The blond shook his head.

“Come on Potter. What happened in there that made you angry?, Draco smirked as he talked, his tone teasing, Did he assign you a desk duty?”

This was Draco’s way to make Harry focus on something else. It usually worked. But Harry just shook his head before mumbling. Draco had to ask him to repeat himself twice before he got it.

“He said he’d understand if I wanted to switch partners and asked someone else to deal with the Death Eater scum.”

This time, he heard it. The man froze, turning paler than ever. Sure, a few months ago, Harry would’ve been delighted to hear these words. But not now. When Draco and him had been assigned partners, it was because of many factors. Ron was gone, Neville too. Draco was an expert in potions and strategy, and Harry was great in actions. That was what they needed for the case. It had worked pretty well, despite the many fights they had together, and in the end, they’ve managed to find an arangement where they could talk to each other, think together and even solve the case together without fighting (too much).

Then they had to work together again on a few cases, seeing they were more than efficient, and they had decided to talk a bit. They’ve managed to go from “mutual agreement not to fight in front of others” to “actually standing to talk to each other” during the second case, then to “going along pretty well all things considered” for the third case. They had tried a tentative friendship then and had grown to spend much more time together than Harry was spending with Ron and Hermione lately, what with all the work she had at the Ministry and him working with George now. Not that Harry complained, Ron seemed more than happy, and Draco was great to be around, once you got passed the cold and mean mask, and gotten used to his Luna kind of strangeness.

And thus, Harry was definitely not happy to hear the Head Auror talk about Draco like that. Especially since even before becomming friends with him, even Harry had to admit Draco was one of the best Auror he knew. Because the blond could be as discreet as he could be loud and theatrical, because he was clever, so clever, always thinking ahead and planning, because he had this probably pureblood advantage to know stuffs about psychology and politics and could think like the people they were after, and he could almost always talk someone out of, or convince them to do something. And, as Harry had discovered lately, because Draco felt like he didn’t have much to loose, and because he felt like being the best was a challenge, he never backed off. And not only that had saved Harry’s arse a few times, which he was grateful for, but it also made Harry realise how much Draco had grown, and how far from the spoiled brat he was as a kid.

Harry looked at Draco, now, and he wished he hadn’t told him anything about what had been said by the Head Auror. The blond man was really pale and had slipped back into what Harry thought about as the Malfoy persona: cold and expressionless. Which he only wore in public, with people he didn’t like and/or when they were at an official thing, like the Ministry ball and such. Or when he was trying to keep it together, wether it was from rage or pain. And since this was just the two of them, and Harry liked to think Draco rather liked hanging out with him, could only mean one thing. It made the man’s heart clench painfully and his throat turned dry. Merlin he hated when Draco did that. It reminded him of Lucius Malfoy, though it might’ve been the point. Harry hadn’t thought before talking, so used to venting to Draco, and now the blond was upset.

“Draco, I’m sorry, the Head Auror is a right bastard, and I can assure you I got really mad at him for that and…-

- Harry James Potter, you are a right idiot.”

Draco glared at him an Harry froze. What?

“What?

- You can’t get into trouble with the Head Auror because of m-…,he cut out and made a face quickly before continuying, Because of that! It’s not as if it wasn’t true, anyway. Nor the worst I heard.”

Draco got up, and Harry just stared at him in complete confusion. Why was he the one being reprimended?

“What?

- Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Harry, shut it. You can’t get mad at your boss because he insulted me! Not in front of him at least! Sure, you can rant all you want to me, or Ronald, or Hermione, but do not…”

Again with the face, meaning Draco was struggling to explain himself. That happened when he was really pissed. And Harry felt kind of terrified to be the object of his wrath right now. The blond started to pace the room, staying on the other side of Harry, gesturing as he lectured the black haired man.

“For someone who’d like a promotion, you sure as hell know how to ensure not to get one!

- B-but he insulted you! Draco!

- What about it, Potter? Think I can’t take care of myself?”

And, oh, back to Potter, that wasn’t good. Harry shut his mouth and gulped. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I thought I had managed to teach you a thing or two! Keep it together in front of people!

- But I don’t want to switch partner!, and Harry’s voice was a squeak now.

- Well then, again, you keep it together, mumble something about not wanting someone else to have to deal with me, play the Saviour again, I don’t know! But don’t yell at him! How stupid can you be?!”

Draco went on, expressing how stupid Harry was and how he should know better, and Harry felt like he should be pissed about all that, but all he could think of was what Draco meant by that. He didn’t care about being insulted. He didn’t care about being characterised by his past, when all he did was making up for it. All he cared about was Harry’s sake and position. How he didn’t want Harry to be compromised for his sake. And Harry’s heart clenched again, but it wasn’t as painful this time. Draco wouldn’t mind if Harry hid their friendship, their everything, to keep his image intact. Harry really wanted Draco to shut up now, so he could tell him how much more important he was to him than whatever image Harry had. And that’s when Harry realised what he really wanted to say.

“I love you.”

It was a small, shuddering, gasp, it was the realisation that dawned on him, it was sudden and really, really impulsive. But, as Draco had realised as they were working together, it was very Harry.

Draco had shut up indeed. He had even frozen completely, for a few seconds, before he had turned slowly to face Harry, his eyes wide with shock and his mouth hanging open a little. Harry blushed immediately, slowly realising what he had just said. Well, that was sort of awkward. They weren’t even dating, had just really recently become friends. Too late to take it back, though. Harry saw Draco close his mouth and gulp, before he looked away. The silent stretchedand would the situation be a tad different, Harry would’ve poked fun at Draco for making him speechless, truly an exploit.

“… Do you mean that… ?”

It was so small, so unlike Draco, that Harry’s eyes immediately shot to him. There was something on the blond’s face that Harry hadn’t seen many times, only when he had spent hours waiting in St Mungos when Harry had managed to get hurt in mission, when his father had been really sick, when there had been an attempt of attack on his mother. Fear that something was going to go wrong, the fear to hope. Hence why Harry didn’t hesitate to nod, which was pretty stupid, since he had no idea what Draco would rather hear. But, well, it was too late now, and Harry really didn’t want Draco to go back to depreciating himself, so he made another rash decision and started speaking.

“I do, I really do, Draco. You’re smart, and a great strategist, you’re a great person, you grew so much! You always try to make up for what happened before, but you did so much more than make up for it, you deserve to be treated fairly! You’re always thinking ahead, you saved my arse so many times, you’re always here for me when I need it, you always have my back… Well I have yours, too! Nobody gets to speak about you like the Head Auror did, and you included! And I really, really love you. I don’t care if you don’t, I swear, it’s just, you’re amazing, and so much better than you think, and I swear I’ll always have your back, I don’t care, trust me, I really don’t bloody care that it might slow me down for a promotion, or whatever, I would fight anyone saying anything about you being anything else than amazing and-…

- Harry. Shut up, will you?”

Draco’s face was back to something familiar, his voice so so soft, with a light of amusement in his eyes, and a fond smile on his lips. Harry blushed crimson and close his mouth, before smiling sheepishly. He was about to apologise, but Draco took his hands in his own softly. Harry gulped slightly, and Draco chuckled.

“I love you too, idiot.”

Harry felt his heart swell, and couldn’t help but grin wider, earning another laugh from the blond. The other man was looking at him like he was discovering his face, which was probably the case, as they had never stood that close while facing each other. Draco’s right hand slowly came up to Harry’s face and put a stray strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. Which did nothing to improve Harry’s blush, nor the start of Draco’s, for all that mattered. They just stared at each other, and it really was enough right there.

Slowly, very slowly, they inched closer to one another and just as slowly they kissed. It wasn’t a very particular kiss, just like the other, except it was extraordinary, because it was Draco for Harry, because it was Harry for Draco. The way they kissed didn’t matter so much as who it was. And when they broke apart they were both smiling widely and gave each other as many little peck they could, just the two of them, like they were out of the world for a bit.

“Alright, maybe I can let go of you getting mad at the Head Auror for once.

- Now, if I knew that was what I needed to do to avoid being yelled at…

- Don’t get used to it, you can’t do that everytime, Potter.”

Harry chuckled softly and shook his head soflty. He was happy.

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cherryyharryy · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 5: Clavicular Notch

This dream isn't feeling sweet

A shattered gasp shot through her lips as her head flew off the pillow. Harry’s shirt was glued to her drenched body and her pillow held more than her imprint. Adeline clenched the comforter through the exhausted and weakening paralysis coursing in her bones, focusing on what little energy and strength she could conjure up to throw the heavy weight off her body.

She counted back from ten before finally opening her eyes, willing her lungs to find a calmer rhythm. It took her brain a few moments to register that she was awake, her legs now dangling off the edge of the bed, allowing her feet to get used to the shock of cold from the hardwood.

After a few minutes of stirring in silence she shuffled out of her room in need of a glass of water, eyes nearly closed and her tongue struggling to swallow in dryness.

The apartment was dark, and she didn’t have the stamina to fiddle around for the light switch when she stumbled into the kitchen. The sink seemed miles away as she drug her feet across the tile, yanking a mug off the rack on the counter and filling it to the top with cold water.

She adjusted her shirt so it covered her thighs before sliding onto the barstool at the island, sparing her already tormented body from the bite of the cold leather. She only had three big gulps past her lips when her body flinched at a sudden burst of light.

“What are you doing up?”

An ankle-length-nightgown-clad Nicole strolled towards the stove where she started a pot of tea. She flipped the box of small packets open and picked out a few before deciding on one, which only sent memories of Harry tumbling through Adeline’s head.

Harry and his middle of the night tea that served to further his consciousness rather than its intended purpose of soothing his wired body and rambunctious mind, which led to flirty texts buzzing through her phone and a whispered phone call until one of them fell asleep.

But Nicole was no Harry and now they had a bit of a different routine.

Despite having been asleep for hours, every hair on Nicole’s head was in place and her nightgown was wrinkle-free. There were no makeup smudges under her eyes nor any evidence of a panic attack wreaking havoc on her as she slept. Her kettle steamed right away, drawing her questioning eyes from where they’d been resting on her younger cousin.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“These walls are thin you know,” Nicole eyed her knowingly, “I can hear you gasping and mumbling to yourself.”

“I’m just a little stressed.”

“Are you having nightmares? Are you—why are you using a mug for water?”

Adeline looked down at her drink and sighed. “No nightmares, just stress. I think I let it build up and then at night it all hits, and then I just...lose it. I don’t know.”

Nicole took a seat beside her cousin, her tea in perfectly manicured hands. “What are you so stressed about?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? How could you not know?”

Adeline shrugged. “Life I guess. That’s what I worry about.”

“What could you possibly be stressed about?” Nicole asked accusingly, waving her spoon in the air. “You’re 18, living in a rent-free apartment, away from your parents. You’re at a great school, no job, no major responsibilities. Your skin is blemish free...what’s the problem?”

Nicole’s criticism only furthered Adeline’s need to shut down. The clinking of her spoon stirring her tea grew louder, mixing in with the whirlpool of reasons she should be happy flinging around her mind.

“I know, I know. I’m very blessed. I don’t know what it is, just got a case of the blues.”

Nicole’s eyes narrowed in on her. “Alright then, whatever you say.” She brought her cup to the sink, mumbling about all the chores she had to do the next day before cleaning up her mess and bidding Adeline a weak goodnight.

Adeline downed the rest of her water and slid off the stool, holding back a round of tears as she she rounded the island, leaving her mug on the counter for Nicole to fuss about in the morning.

***

Half an hour later and Adeline was still tossing in bed, so she resorted to the only thing that could quiet her mind.

“Hello, darling.”

“Harry…”

“Bad night, love? You alright?”

“Just tell me about your day.”

And so their routine began; her calling in the middle of the night to rely on Harry’s voice for comfort. The time they spent together took a major hit when fall semester began. His college acceptance letter to Chadron had been bittersweet, knowing what it meant for their relationship.

“I had quite a productive day. Woke around noon to go stand in line at this new record store that was opening. I was eighth in line, Addy.”

“So? What does that mean?”

“That, my dear, means that you are talking to the proud owner of two free vinyls.”

Adeline settled back into her pillows, her body finally able to relax at the thought of the smug grin that was surely adorning his face, lying in his small bed, shirtless with the covers kicked down to his feet because he always got too hot, fan on high with that morning’s coffee still sat on the nightstand.

“Congratulations, glad to hear you skipped class yet again for a worthy cause.”

“You’ll eat those words when you’re listenin’ to this delicacy the next time we see each other.”

“Neither of us even owns a record player.”

“M’working on it, babe, don’t worry about it.”

“Anyway,” Adeline hummed, “what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Guess I’ll go to class considering I haven’t gone all week.”

“All week! Harry you can’t do that! This isn’t high school. They aren’t going to cater to you. If you miss assignments, that’s it, no more turning things in whenever you want.”

“Thank you, mum.”

“M’serious, Harry. We can’t slide by anymore. Last week this girl showed up ten minutes late to class and my professor told her to leave. He said if she was going to be late, then she shouldn’t even bother showing up. We have to be more responsible now.”

“I know, but s’just not any fun. Guess that's what happens as yeh get older, the fun dies a little each day."

"I think that's a little dramatic. We can still have fun, we just have to put school first."

"For someone so smart that was a load of shit, Addy. If I were to die next week, my life flashing before m'eyes, what do you think I'd wanna see?"

"I know," she let out a sigh, "I get that, I do, I just don't wanna mess this up. This is the rest of our lives we're talking about."

"True, but you can't have all work and no play either," he reasoned. "See, this is why we should've gone to the same school. We balance each other out. You could yell at me to do my homework, and I could drag your bloodshot eyes away from your laptop to some stupid party."

Spending her college years with Harry would be a dream. She missed him more and more as the days went by. The picture he painted made her skin tingle and her brain dance, wanting nothing more than to live out the innocent fantasy.

"And then what?"

"We'd be there for an hour before leavin' out of boredom, tired of watching people drink themselves into a coma and mixing drugs in the bathroom. Then we'd go get ice cream, or go skinny dipping."

"How are those my only choices?" She laughed.

"Sorry, I meant, go get ice cream, and go skinny dipping. Forgive me love, m'quite knackered."

"You're ridiculous. What about in the winter when it's cold?"

“In the winter we would...go back to my apartment, cause you're roommate is really weird. Like, really weird. And pile up every blanket we own onto the bed and just hug 'till we fall asleep."

"You mean cuddle."

"You know I don't like that word, Adeline."

Laughter erupted from her mouth at his sudden serious tone. It had been late at night, not long after they first got together, that he informed her of just how much he hated the word. It was on a list that included overdone brownies, people who let newspapers pile up at the end of their driveway, and seeing babies in frigid grocery stores without socks on their feet.

"I couldn't help myself. I—ugh, Nicole is shouting at me to be quiet. I should probably go." her eyes flickered to her clock. "It's getting late anyway, almost three."

"Yeah, I have an early class tomorrow, he sighed.

"Thought your Thursday class didn't start 'till eleven?"

"It does, that's early."

"Whatever, Harry."

"Hey,” he cooed, “I know you've been really stressed out lately, yeh need to step back sometimes to relax."

"I know, I've just been overthinking about my life at the moment."

"You're living the dream, babe."

"I know, s'just not what I was expecting.

"And what was that?" He asked.

"I—I don't know. Just doesn’t feel the way I think I should feel. I don't even know if that makes any sense."

"It does, I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I miss you too, angel. More than you know."

***

And then her professor, a dignified man with three degrees and a never ending collection of sweater vests, who erased everything he wrote on the board about two seconds after he wrote it, who's advice for her when she came to him for tutoring was to 'look at her notes', was anything but helpful.

The classroom was on the exact opposite side of campus from her class right before, and you'd think fifteen minutes would be more than enough time to get there, but a few weeks in and she can only manage to arrive after the door had been locked and she’s left to interrupting the lecture with her knocking.

On top of that, the room was freezing. The guy that usually sat next to her asked for a pencil every. single. day. And last week she sat in gum.

So needless to say, she dreaded Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Despite the weekly impending doom, today she had high hopes. They were getting their first test back, and she was in need of some good fortune. Nicole had been a grouch that morning, complaining about how she interrupts her morning routine, which led to an argument which led to her storming out without even having the chance to brush her teeth.

So an 'A' on a test, which she knew she was getting—she had studied for hours—was just what she needed to turn her day around.

***

Dr. Wallace loved to torture apparently, making them wait the entire hour and fifteen minutes of which she couldn't harness any concentration, until he passed back their exams. Adeline’s heart was a pounding frenzy and her bones were tingling.

When the seventy-five question test was finally laid down before her, her brain froze in mindless thought and the anxiety filling her up moments ago switched gears. She looked up to her professor, who was already five rows past her’s, and back down at what must be a mistake.

Had to be a mistake.

Please, God, let it be a mistake.

***

"Well maybe next time you'll try a little harder. Set some time aside and study, you can't have your boyfriend the focus of your life anymore, school needs to be your priority, Adeline."

She just sat there, dumbfounded with her mouth gaping around silent protests. Her dad flipped through the pages of her test, shaking his head every so often. At one point he pointed out one of her wrong answers, with the audacity to ask her why she got it incorrect. And he did not care for her response of 'I didn't know the answer'. Before she even had a chance to put a sentence together, he continued on with his rant.

"College is different, honey. Your professors aren't goin' to babysit you anymore."

"I know dad, I know." her head dropped into her hands. She huffed out a shaky breath and met his gaze once again. "I guess next time I'll start preparing three weeks ahead of a test."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." He slid from his seat at the table, nodding with each word as he picked up both of their plates. "More cake?"

She shook her head. "M'just gonna head back."

"What? I thought you were spending the weekend? That's a long drive."

"Yep. So the sooner I leave, the faster I get back." She slung her bag over her shoulder and rounded the island to kiss her dad's cheek. "I'll see you guys at Thanksgiving."

***

Strike two. The understanding of trying your hardest was not a part of the genetic makeup on her dad's side of the family.

"Adeline, I don't know what you want me to say? This is a terrible grade. You got what you deserve. You get out what you put into things. Try harder next time."

With that boost of encouragement Nicole tossed her now crumpled test on the counter and went back to scrubbing the bare fridge, mumbling about how Adeline arranged all of its contents wrong and how she has to do everything.

"You're not listening. I did try. Really hard—"

"If you tried hard you would have the grade to show for it."

She snatched her test and spun on her heel. "Whatever, Nicole. M'goin' to bed."

***

Surely this was a joke. Bombing this test was bad enough, but everyone’s negative input was just another muddy stomp across her heart.

“You can’t be mad, Addy, not at me or anyone else.” Gina, Adeline’s friend from high school whom she sat with in her Sociology class, attempted to smooth out her test on the edge of her desk. “You’ll do better on the next one.”

“But Gina, you can understand why I’m frustrated. I mean, look at the second question—it’s ridiculous! How can he expect anyone to get that right? And—”

“Blaming the professor will get you nowhere.”

She sighed and took her somewhat smoother test from her hands and stuffed it into her book bag, trying not to let any more tears slip all because of one stupid exam.

“You’re my friend, aren’t you supposed to complain alongside me, y’know, and tell me as long as I try my best it’s good enough?”

Gina brought her coffee down from her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “M’not your mom at your dance recital. You’re in college now. The bar for doing your best has raised, so you’d better catch up.”

***

"It's one test, love. You'll do better on the next one."

"You don't understand, Harry." She kicked her door shut and flopped down on her bed, keeping her phone pressed to her ear. "I spent hours over the course of days studying. Took pages of notes, did the practice questions, I even went to a study group with some people from my class! All for nothing but a lousy fuckin' 42."

"M'sorry Addy, know how you feel," he sighed. "But I also know how smart you are, how yeh never give up. You'll come out of this class with an A, I know it. Remember that biology teacher you had? She was a piece of work and you made it outta her class alive. I'm rooting for you, darling."

She relaxed into the pillow, letting herself believe his encouragements. It wouldn't last, she’ll worry and panic the rest of the semester, but for now she’ll pretend he's right.

"Thank you, Harry."

"F'course. S'what I'm here for. So other than everyone you know not taking your side—”

“Don’t mock me!”

“S’your own words,love.”

“I was really upset!”

“I know, I know. But you’re not now?”

“Until my next test.”

He sighed on the other end, and now more than ever did she wish she could see him, feel him. His voice alone was losing its convincibility that Harry was actually physically on the other side of the call.

“Take a deep breath, baby. Your whole college career isn’t dependent on this one class. Everyone has a test or two that they’re going to bomb. All you can do is learn from it. Maybe find someone who’s already taken this professor, see how they survived.”

“Yeah, there’s this guy in my history class who took it last semester. Guess I could pick his brain.”

“There you go. You’re going to be fine. And if all else fails, I’ll support you for the rest of your life.”

She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Shut up.”

“So...any luck with picking a major?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask,” she sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you—”

“I know, I know. Literature. But—”

“It’s your calling. Your mom said you’re an incredible writer.”

Adeline rolled her eyes. “She’s my mom, she has to say that.”

“I’d say it too if I was allowed to see any of your work.”

Adeline bit the inside of her cheek, thankful that Harry couldn’t see her at the moment. She’d done an excellent job of keeping her writing to herself, only choosing to share a poem or short story here or there with her family, but the thought of Harry reading anything she’s put down on paper filled her with more fear than she’d like to handle.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbled softly. “My major I mean. I’ll think about literature.”

“Good. And—ah my neighbor’s here. I blew him off last week, can’t do it again.”

“Have fun. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t if you’ll stop stressin’ over this class for now.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” Harry sighed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, love.”

#ribsfic #ribsc5 #harry styles #writing #harry styles writing #harrystyles #harry styles fic #cherryyharryy

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brerediddy · 6 years ago

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the resistance (with you by my side)

summary: what happens after the Marshal tells Hermann to go find Newt following the attack on Hong Kong. (newmann; fluff & slight h/c).

Hermann didn’t hear much else after the Marshal mentioned Newt’s name. Once the initial tragedy had been avoided, the only thing he could stand to think about was his fellow scientist—out in the middle of city name, alone and possibly dead. But he couldn’t think of that at the moment. No, he had to remain optimistic. Newton had survived the attack, gotten the kaiju brain, and was perfectly fine to continue on with his asinine and perilous drifting scheme. That being said, Hermann could feel the anxiety pooling in his gut. White knuckled, he gripped his cane as he was boarding the helicopter that would take him to the other man.

So much had become clear in the past twelve hours. He had found Newton prone, seizing on the floor. That alone was enough to send a shockwave through his collected system, throwing off the balance of years worth of rivalry. Then. Well, then, the Marshal has suggested that Newt drift again. As if the first time hadn’t nearly done the biologist in. Hermann tried to focus on his own matters. The numbers; they made sense and they were consistent and they didn’t scare the absolute shit out of him. Well, no more than normal. The numbers didn’t risk their lives in the name of science. Hermann hadn’t considered a loss of the other scientist before that moment and he never wanted to again, after the fact. Yet there he sat. He twiddled his thumbs absently in the helicopter, his mind wandering to Newton’s situation once more. Not only did he go into the bone slums—a heinous place filled with known criminals—but he went to strike a deal. Now, Hermann knew the other man. As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew Newt better than he knew most anyone else. And it was due to that surety that he could say that Newton’s mouth would get him killed. Or at least seriously injured. Really. The man, as smart as he was, had not one ounce of self-preservation when he was amongst his peers. He was always the one to stand up to bullies in the Shatterdome, resulting in a black eye or such. He was the only one who could turn a simple negotiation into a blood match. Hermann was sure of it.

When the helicopter landed, the bubble of anxious energy building in the physicist’s chest was hitting its peak. He would know, soon, how his lab partner had fared in the attack. The city itself wasn’t looking promising. Buildings were crumbled, blue entrails lined the streets. Sirens were still wailing in the background. It was exactly what Hermann expected to see, and yet, the thought of Newt in the middle of it all changed the image. Newton. Small, scared. Running with all the finesse of a man who hadn’t run since grade school. Newton, coming face to face with the creatures he admired so much; Newton watching the jaws open through teary eyes, accepting the inevitable. Hermann really hoped that Newt hadn’t just accepted the inevitable. Pushing the unpleasantness away, the man continued on his quest. His one and only objective was in bright lights such as on a marquee: N E W T O N. His legs carried him towards the body of a kaiju, where the other man had to be (if he had survived). As he approached the humongous creature, he couldn’t see the biologist anywhere. Surely he would be in plain sight, yes?

He grew closer and closer, his heart pounding against his rib cage and his lungs expanding more frequently than they were meant to. Newton Newton Newton. Where could he be? He had to be here. He had to. Hermann clenched his jaw, eyes still frantically scanning the area. Dark hair, glasses, chaotic energy. Find those and it was a surefire map to the other man.

But he could find none of those things. Newton was nowhere to be seen. But, Hermann reminded himself, that didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’d just be on his way from a shelter somewhere. Maybe he was busy with a different kaiju brain. But Hermann couldn’t imagine Newton not wanting to investigate the fresh specimen right in front of him. He had to be here. He had to be. In the middle of his panic, a hand clasped his shoulder. It was warm and familiar and soft and electric.

“Herm-“ a voice said as Hermann began to turn around. No sooner could Newton finish his sentence before the taller man was wrapping his arms around the shorter, bringing him into a tight hug. He couldn’t bring himself to care about PDA or professional boundaries at this point: he was just overjoyed that the man was breathing.

“Newton, you’re alright,” he said. it was more for his benefit than for the other’s.

“Yeah, dude. I’m okay.” Newton’s tone was calm but he hugged back a little bit tighter than was necessary.

Hermann released his hold just enough to glance at the other man, checking him over for any major injuries. When he couldn’t find any, he let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Hugging Newton close to his chest again, he said, “I can’t believe how idiotic you are.”

“Right back at you, Herms,” Newton said, smiling that smile that suddenly made Hermann’s stomach flip. They released each other, the physicist still looking over Newton for irregularities.

“What happened to you?” he asked, raising a gentle finger to trace near the blood on Newton’s forehead.

“Oh, you know. Just kaiju stuff,” Newton responded with a shrug. At Hermann’s stern look, he amended his statement. “I tripped. A few times. They’re tracking me now, man. One found me in the shelter. Then the baby, dude, it came right after me. It was crazy.”

However scared Newton was (and, oh god, he was), his eyes still lit up with glee at the mention of the monsters. He had gotten his wish—seeing a living kaiju up-close.

“Tracking you? Because of the drift?” Hermann was almost too afraid to ask. Newton was on their radar. Newton was at more risk than Hermann even thought possible.

“Yeah. Hannibal said something about it before...well, before.” Newton looked at the ground unpleasantly. “Anyway. I only have so long to harvest this brain, so.”

He began to step away from the other man when Hermann reached out a hand, grabbing onto his art-covered wrist. “Newton, wait.”

The biologist was silent for a moment, eyes wide. His glasses were cracked. How had Hermann not noticed that before?

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

Newt grinned again. He patted the other man’s hand with his own and said, “I’m glad you’re here. I really needed...someone. I’m glad it’s you.”

Hermann swallowed and tugged the shorter man close to him yet again. Their eyes met, Newton looking up with a trace of wonder. The taller man leaned in before he knew what hit him, pressing his lips to the biologists.

The kiss was short and sweet, more the product of curiosity and impulsivity than anything else. They pulled apart in a hasty manner. Newt was wide-eyed, his mouth shut for once. Hermann’s face heated up, his eyes averting to the ground as he rapidly stammered out an apology. “I don’t know what came over me, Dr. Gieszler, I’m-”

“Do it again,” Newt said. His eyes were shining and he smiled up at the man. “I want you to kiss me again, Herms.”

“Oh,” the physicist said. He connected their lips again, pulling in the other man by his waist. They fit so well together and it was incredible. They both knew the clock was ticking, knew there wasn’t time for this, but it was impossible to pull away from the magnetic draw of each other. Hermann hated how much time they had wasted not kissing.

They broke apart once again, grinning at each other. “You’re not just kissing me because I almost died, right?”

“No,” Hermann said quickly. “Well. I suppose to say no wouldn’t be fully truthful. I’m kissing you because I want to. Because I care for you greatly. I didn’t realize just how greatly until I thought I might have lost you.”

Newt nodded like this made sense. “I’m glad you figured it out, then. We should do that some more later.” He went in for one more hug, wrapping his arms around Hermann’s middle like his life depended on it. “I’m glad you’re here to see me off before the drift.”

Hermann frowned. The concept of Newton going in at all wasn’t pleasant; however, the thought of him doing so alone? It simply wouldn’t happen. Hermann wouldn’t allow it. Deciding that he would remedy the drift-situation when it became relevant, he let out a breath and allowed himself to enjoy the embrace.

It had been mere hours since Newt’s first life-threatening experience and yet Hermann had broken his quota for physical contact over and over again. He supposed that it was okay: the apocalypse called for these sorts of things. Newt fit perfectly in Hermann’s arms, closing his eyes and sighing. He could afford one more second of peace before diving into another nightmare. Besides, with Hermann by his side, he could handle anything.

#newmann #pacific rim #newt gieszler #hermann gottlieb #hermann x newt #fic #fanfiction #my writing

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mareebrittenford · 6 years ago

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The Extra Fakes- Shadow Mirrors

tHey everyone! I was thrilled with the response I got from posting the first part of this chapter so here is the rest. And the introduction to the other 2 members of the Extra Fakes crew, David and Georgia. No powers yet, just hints about them. But be patient.

As always I appreciate any support for my writing, so please check out my novels #1, #2, patreon and ko-fi!

Also here’s a link to the first part in case you missed it

"I've got a new prospect," Lionel tells me.

"Yeah?" I don't care much, but Lionel is always on the lookout for track team talent. Our mediocre team’s indifferent performance at meets is a constant source of shame to him, as if he's personally responsible for every single non ranked finish that the team produces.

We're standing out the front of the main building waiting for everyone to change and straggle out here for the afternoon run. We’ve only been back at school for two days, and it’s killer hot. Summer is hanging in the air like it's never going to end and the low water landscaping in front of the school, with all the beds of pebbles, sand and succulents isn’t doing much besides reflecting the heat back at us. So half of us get to stand here baking while the slackers take their sweet time.

I would prefer to run before school, you know, when it’s cool? But you can guess what kind of reaction that got.

Lionel points out a boy, easily noticed, dressed as he is in his gym uniform rather than the team tee-shirts and running shorts that everyone else is mostly sporting. He's standing off to the side, watching us from under the shadow of a grey ballcap. He's vaguely familiar. I'm pretty sure he's in some of my classes, but I can't remember ever talking to him. He's not much to look at. Small skinny white guy, that cap pulled down to hide his face. But good runners are often small and skinny. Take me for example.

"That guy? In the gym uniform?" I ask, although it’s obviously who Lionel means.

"Yeah. I don't know how I've never noticed him before. But I saw him today in gym class, and he's got something. He’s smooth and fast."

I rack my brain, I can't recall seeing that guy ever participating in sports.

"Maybe he started running over the summer break?"

"Maybe." Lionel sounds dubious. "He's got some grace for a newbie. Anyway, can you take care of him for me? I don't want to crowd him."

Well now I am curious. How good is he? And what has he been doing for the last couple of years that Lionel didn't notice him before? Lionel may not have much in the way of interpersonal skills, but he notices everything, especially when it comes to things he feels responsible for. I know that boy has been going to school here. I remember him, even if I don't remember his name.

And mostly, why is Lionel worried about crowding him? He's usually the high pressure sell, rattling away in prospects ears about how good a sport looks on college applications and the lower pressure environment of our sport is with it's scope for individual achievements rather than the team teams. Lionel is from a huge family and has no understanding of the meaning of subtlety and personal space.

For him to hand this boy off to me he must be really worried about making a good impression. Or the kid is majorly weird. Yay for Lionel deciding to let me handle the weird ones.

When Lionel leads off down the street I make sure to fall into step with new guy, although honestly I feel like he's matching his gait to mine rather than the other way around.

I wait for him to speak, but he remains silent. Lionel is right, his gait is smooth and easy, his footfalls are quiet even. The bill of his cap bobbing along in my peripheral vision is the loudest thing about him. It's actually pretty nice. I don't like to have my ear talked off on a run, and since I seldom get the chance to run with Lionel once school is in session I usually don't get what I want.

But after a while I notice the people in the main pack glancing back at us. Particularly Brad. The ass. Lionel is pushing harder today making the pack fight to stay with him and Brad is starting to turn that telltale shade of red. It's not a problem for the new guy. He's making no effort to catch the lead pack, but he's keeping the distance between us and them steady.

Brad shoots us another nasty glare as he gives up the fight and we pass him.

"Don't mind them" I say.

The guy makes a noncommittal noise. "Nothing wrong with pushing yourself a bit."

"True. Maybe having someone new around will be good. Some of them could stand to push themselves a bit."

"I don't intend to be any threat to anyone."

Now that's an odd thing to say. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he's the kind of person who doesn't like to make any waves.

"I don’t think we’ve ever talked before. I'm Carlyse."

"David."

Ah, that's it. I can place him now. David Smith. A bland name for a bland boy. And definitely not an athlete.

"Aren't you in chess club? I seem to remember..."

"Last year. That was last year."

He says it so firmly. It makes it sound like something heavy went down in Chess Club. I stifle a giggle, imagining those serious studious kids flipping boards and throwing down. It could happen I guess.

"It's nothing dramatic, I just couldn't handle it anymore."

"Was it too competitive? Because I can tell you right now that Lionel is not going to be okay with you not competing seriously."

He sighs. "You're kinda in charge here?"

"Lionel is in charge. He's Team Captain." I thought he knew that.

"I know, but the two of you, you work together, right? You might not have a captain tee-shirt, but you're a basically co-leader, right?"

I don't view myself like that but okay, I do work with Lionel a lot on team stuff. "Sure, I guess."

"Ok. Well, you probably should know then, just in case I do something-- weird. I've had some stuff happen in my life, and I have some-- anxiety issues. I get stressed, I panic sometimes. I tried, but I can't handle chess or gaming or pretty much anything that's closed quarters and intense competition." "Chess is intense competition?" That's probably not the right response to someone who's spilling some pretty personal information, but he snorts.

"You have no idea."

I think for a moment. I'm curious about exactly what this stuff that happened was, but on the other hand, what if it's something awful? Do I really want to involve myself? If he's as messed up as he’s saying I'm guessing it was something bad. I don’t want to know details.

"I guess you already told Lionel this."

"No."

Then why did he hand him off to me? And tell me that he didn't want to come on too strong?

"Coach then?"

"No. Lionel just cornered me in the locker room and asked me to check it out so I showed up to take a run. I haven't talked to anyone."

Lionel cornered him. That sounds like Lionel. Probably while he was half naked. It would never occur to Lionel that a stranger getting in your space when you're on the way to the shower would be stressful. And he managed to do it to a kid who’s been attacked or traumatized somehow. Lionel must have freaked him out. And even Lionel is smart enough to realize when he's scared someone.

But still, David had shown up for the run instead of running in the other direction.

"You seem okay right now," I say cautiously.

"I am. Mostly. It's just certain situations that I have problems with. Running is good. I'm outside, it's stupid, I know, but I feel like if I get scared I can just run away. And I don't think any of you could catch me."

"Oh, so you're gonna be like that are you?"

"Just telling the truth." But I can see him grinning, and before I really think I give him a bump with my shoulder, just like I'd do with anyone on the team when we joke around. But-

"Am I bothering you? Should I have not done that?" The sidewalk is fairly narrow, so I'm still in close proximity.

"Nope. You're good. You're the easiest sort of person to be around. You don't want anything from me and you're not threatened by me. It's nice. Relaxing."

I don't think a guy has ever complimented me on being easy to be around before, but he doesn't seem like he's flirting. Despite the heavy topic this feels like a really laid back conversation. Like he said, it's nice to be around someone who doesn't want anything from you.

Lionel drops back from the front group, and falls in on the other side of David. I can feel a change in David immediately. The smooth ground eating gait changes to something more choppy and rigid. I slow slightly, just enough to fall behind the two of them. What he said makes me think he likes having an open escape route.Lionel says a few words, slaps David on the shoulder and drops back some more to the group behind us.

"So," I say, coming back up beside David. "Don’t let Lionel bother you. He's intense but he's okay." Although I have to admit to myself that he can't exactly be described as mellow or easygoing. And he definitely wants something.

"I know. He's just assertive.” He shakes his head. “I know that,” he repeats, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Thanks for giving me space. It probably wouldn't be good for my chances if I freaked out and took off."

"Oh I don't know. He's pretty excited about you. I think he'd overlook most things if you're as fast as you think you are."

I see that grin, that flash of teeth again.

"Good to know."

We finish the run back in front of the school. I’m sweating like pig. The combination of the heat and the pace. Particularly keeping up with David. He seems to be moving as easily as he was at the start. He sweating, but he hasn’t even turned the bright red that I’m used to seeing from the white kids.

"How many miles do you normally run a week?" I ask him. This is important fact finding for Lionel. Nothing to do with me feeling slightly resentful that he's so unbothered by the run.

"I dunno. I usually run an hour or so in the morning before school, and then again at night if I get the chance. I don't usually do afternoons. Too hot."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Maybe you'd like to take a run later tonight then?" He's taken the cap off and I can see his face clearly for the first time. His face is average, forgettable. The normal features in the normal places, a lean pale face with earnest eyes. Yet something about the way he's looking at me sends fear skittering down my spine. His eyes. His eyes aren’t forgettable. I feel chilled, despite the heat and the sweat pouring off me.

"Perhaps another time. Keeping up with you today was hard work. I’m done running for the day."

"Tomorrow morning? Or maybe on the weekend?" he persists, not breaking eye contact.

I take a step back.

"No, sorry. I’ve got a busy schedule."

And he flinches. I don't know what else you'd call it. It's like he twitches all over, maybe startles is a better word. Then he hunches his shoulders and pulls the cap down over his face again.

"Okay. Sorry. I gotta go," and he slips between a couple of other people and disappears. I frown, trying to spot him, and then I finally see him over the other side of the parking lot talking to Lionel. How did he get over there so fast? And why do I feel so unsettled?

Georgia, my best friend, is waiting for me after I shower. She's not much for organized sports, but she's here after school because she's involved with the school newspaper, she writes lots of quirky articles about random topics.

"So, what's up in the exciting world of journalism?" I ask as I join her.

"Oh so many thrills. I have to come up with something about local architecture by next week. What should I talk about? Creepy Victorians? Or tract houses? Or maybe I should do an expose on heritage listings."

I laugh. "Hey, how about a house that's sometimes invisible?"

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm supposed to be writing about local history, not fiction."

"Trust me. This place is real."

She's amused, and jokes with me all the way to the elementary school where I have to go pick up my little sister from her after school program.

Of course I've pointed out the fairy house to Georgia, and unlike Lionel she was actually interested, but she’s been away staying with her grandparents most of the summer. So she’s missed out on what Lionel has started to call my obsession. If it’s only visible to certain people though she’s definitely on the list.

I roll my eyes at my own ridiculousness and wave to my sister. She bounces out the gate and hugs me, and the supervisor gives me a nod. He sees me here every day. Melody's only five, and I pick her up every day and watch her until my parents get home. I don't mind. She's a sweet kid, and it's usually only for an hour or so. Usually she watches tv and I do homework.

But I’ve missed Georgia, and homework can wait.

"Want to hit Goodwill?" I ask.

It's one of our favorite things to do together. Thrifting clothes. The Goodwill in the strip mall on the corner isn't the best place to shop, there are so many more discerning places that have a consistently good selection, and other less discerning places that are cheaper. But Goodwill has the benefit of being in walking distance and cheap enough. Which suits us today.

Melody complains a bit, but I bribe her with some gatorade chews, probably not the best thing for a five year old to be eating, but I make her wash it down with some water. She probably spent half her afternoon playing on the playground, so maybe she needs the electrolytes as much as I do.

“Haven’t you missed your other big sister?” Georgia asks Melody. “You’re the only baby sister I have and I’d be really sad if you forgot me over the summer.”

Melody giggles.

Georgia always gets a kick out people thinking that they're the sisters, because they can both pass as white, with paler skin and lighter hair than me. It comes of Melody being my half sister. I haven't seen my father in years, and my mom remarried about eight years ago, to Melody's dad, Richard. He's white, and Melody looks a lot like him. I'm darker courtesy of the grab bag of ethnicities on both my mother and father's sides. My father always claimed that his family went all the way back to the mission period. But who knows. I don't really trust my memories of him anymore.

Stepping into the air-conditioned store is a relief after the heat outside. I showered, but I still feel heated and sweaty from the run. I take a few deep breaths. The air in Goodwill isn’t exactly fresh, it smells of dust and Febreeze, but it’s cool.

I look around, deciding where to start first.

I head toward the sweaters and jackets. In weather like this most people aren’t looking at that stuff, which means the pickings are much better. I like to sew, which opens up all sorts of opportunities for a devoted thrifter like me. I can alter clothes that are too large or don't fit right, and I love to find stuff with interesting designs and figure out how to copy them.

When my sister was a baby my mom was on this kick to make sure I didn't feel left out of the family or whatever, and she started doing mommy and me classes with me. I guess she was worried I'd be jealous of this squally baby that took over our house, whose dad actually stuck around. Honestly I didn't mind baby Melody so much. She was cute and seeing Richard doting on her, weird, I wasn't jealous. It made me happy. Like I knew for sure that he wasn't going to leave us. That's when I started calling him dad. It just seemed right, since that was what Melody got to call him.

But despite that my mom must have felt guilty or worried. All I know is that one of the things she signed up for was a mother daughter sewing class, and it was fun. Better than fun. It was amazing. It was like all the things suddenly made sense. Because once I understood the differences in fibers I understood why some clothes make me miserable and some make me happy.

It's the way it feels against my skin more than how it looks. Wool is especially my favorite. I don't get why other people say it feels scratchy. To me if feels like a hug.

At the sweater rack I start by running my fingers across the clothes, searching for that special touch of wool. Or angora, or cashmere. Silk is nice too. Pretty much any animal fiber is great. But wool from actual sheep tops everything.

Georgia has a different strategy. She comes to the same rack but immediately starting to flip through the green section. She loves green. And metallic, and shiny stuff. Where I sort by fabric, then design, then color, she's the opposite, willing to wear any scratchy sweaty synthetic if it has the right color and look. I don't know how she stands it. But, she does find more stuff than me usually. Which she loves. I swear she’s a hoarder.

She holds up a shiny green polyester top and laughs when I wince.

"So," I say.

"So?"

"There's this guy. I think he was sort of hitting on me?"

Georgia looks up in surprise. Guys hitting on me isn't a regular occurrence. Well, Georgia claims that it happens more than I think, that I just don't notice. I notice. But there's nuances that she never seems to get. Flirting is never just flirting. There's always more there. To an awful lot of people flirting is more about them than you. About their status, their attention. Their horniness. You’re just a prop. I’ve let Georgia coax me into going out with a few guys like that (Brad being one spectacular example) and it sucked. Now I know better. So it's not that I'm oblivious to that sort of thing, it's just not worth taking seriously. Georgia thinks I'm too picky. I'm not. Surely expecting that a guy hitting on me is actually into me as more than a girl shaped object, or a way to impress his friends isn’t being too picky. Right?

"What happened?" Georgia demands.

"I don't know. He seemed okay, kinda nice actually. But then he was a little too persistent, you know?"

"Who was it?"

"David Smith?"

She wrinkles her nose, thinking. "I don't know who that is?"

"Yeah, I didn't either. He's a white guy, not much taller than me, kinda skinny."

"Wow. Sounds like a catch."

I snort. “He’s not ugly, just kind of average. He's joining the track team I guess. Lionel has a captain crush on him. I ran with him today. He's a good runner. Graceful."

"So you ran with him, and you thought he was nice and graceful, but then you decided he was too persistent in asking you out? Sounds like you’re just being you.”

I roll my eyes at her. But she’s making me doubt myself. Maybe he wasn’t doing anything besides looking for someone to run with. I sigh. “I don’t know. He was just weird for a bit there. And he’s not cute or anything, although he's got these amazing eyes..." which I suddenly realize that I can't even remember the color of. How does that make sense? I was staring right at them.

Georgia smirks. "Yeah, I'd wait and see then. Maybe he just got excited and he’s not got much skills. Doesn’t mean he’s a jerk. Or maybe he's a jerk. Who knows? Maybe you will want to go out with him at some point. Don't stress until he's shown his true colors.”

Reasonable advice. Even though I know she’s thinking I’m being too shy or suspicious. I don’t think I am. But people I can’t figure out make me nervous. Perhaps he's perfectly normal. Perhaps just he’s lacking some social skills. And hey, I’m used to being around people like that. Maybe he was awkwardly trying to make friends and his anxiety issues made him seem weird. I can give him a chance.

And whatever else he was thinking, he sure he was focused on me as a person. Not on what his chances of getting me to sleep with him were, or what his friends thought. It’d be nice to be around one other guy besides Lionel that wasn’t always focused on that.

But still. I can’t forget that moment of pure fear.

I'm not going anywhere with him after dark.

tagging @pinehutch @focusdumbass @sunsetsrmydreams @maximillianvalentine @q-oetry @timeenoughforamasterpiece Let me know if you want on or off this list!

Also I’m trying to decide how to continue posting sections of this. The whole novel is written (although clearly still completely unedited!) but posting stuff like this on tumblr is messy. I may move it offsite and just post links. I dunno.

#wip boost #extra fakes #superpowers novel #part2

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all-that-glitters-is-goldfish · 7 years ago

Note

avengers-things i kinda need & can't stop thinking about, part 92374: a badly injured & concussed tony having a huge full-blown panic attack while there's no one there but peter parker who's kinda panicking himself bc how long do the others need to get there what is even happening how to help freaking IRON MAN & he can't let him sleep either bc concussion & some time later when the others arrive they find both of them wrapped around each other & in tears but still alive & that's what counts.

Okay, this sounds like it could be fun! Hope you enjoy it :)

Title: Just Breathe

Tony came back to consciousness with a sudden jolt. Hejack-knifed into a sitting position from where he lay on the floor.

His surroundings were still blurry as he attempted to blinkaway the fogginess clouding the edges of his vision. He felt gentle handsattempting to push him back down to the floor, but Tony fought them off.

“Mr. Stark, I really think you should lie back down.”

Tony startled at the other voice, thinking he had beenalone. He blinked once more allowing for the outline of a familiar face to fillhis line of sight.

“Kid?” Tony wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not.

“Yes, Mr. Stark, it’s me. Are you okay?”

Tony stared at him blankly, causing Peter to grow concerned.He nervously fumbled with his hands.

“Can you understand me?” Peter tried again.

Tony nodded, because as confused as he was, he was in factable to process the words that came from the mouth of his 16-year-old protégé. “Kid…”

Peter inched closer, though his movements were cautious. “Umm…Karen told me you might have a mild concussion, as well as some broken ribs-“

The teen paused as he noticed Tony’s confusion. “Karen iswhat I named my suit’s AI. Anyways, she said you’ll probably be fine, but weshould still get you checked over by a medical professional as soon aspossible.”

It was at that moment that Tony became aware of the dullache in the back of his skull, and the burning sensation in his chest. He lookedaround the room as his vision finally cleared, to see that they were in somesort of dark cell. His brain tried to remind him of how he had possibly endedup there, but when no recollection came, he turned his attention back to the teen.

“Pete, care to enlighten me on what exactly happened?”

Peter rose his eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Peter shifted his position, an uncomfortable expression onhis face. His Spider-Man mask laid on the floor next to him. “Well… I wasfollowing these criminals- they were talking about shooting up a bank. I sawthem with the guns, so I went after them- and then you called me, through thesuit. I told you what was happening, you told me to stay away it was toodangerous blah blah blah- You know, Mr. Stark I totally had it handled-“

“Kid-“ Tony cut him off. “Stop rambling and get to thepoint.”

Peter blushed. “Right. So, you of course had to show up andtry and stop me, but then those criminals caught us from behind knocked us bothout. You went down pretty easy, no offence Mr. Stark. I put up a pretty goodfight, not trying to brag or anything. Anyways, so now we’re here- locked insome sort of abandoned prison cell.”

Tony groaned. Great.“Have they came back yet? The criminals?”

“No.” Peter said, in a stern tone unfamiliar to his usualway of speaking.

“Alright-“ Tony grunted, attempting to stand up. “We have tofind a way out of here.”

“No, no, Mr. Stark, you’re injured- please, just sit down.”

“Kid, we can’t just sit here and wait for them to come back.”

“I’m not sure if they’re coming back, sir.”

“Peter. We need to get help.”

Tony attempted to stand up again, and Peter shoved him down-rougher than he had anticipated, causing the teen to wince and pain as hegrabbed his left shoulder.

Tony’s eyes widened. “You’re not hurt too, are you?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Peter sighed, moving his feet into a cross-legged position. “Ithink my shoulder might be dislocated.”

Tony’s face paled as he finally took a good luck at the teen’sshoulder. Yup definitely dislocated. “Christkid- Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m sorry, I was just worried about you.”

The older man heaved a sigh, realizing that it was becomingincreasingly difficult to draw in a deep breath. “Y-You should have told me youwere hurt, kid…”

Dizzy.

“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Nope, definitely not. “Yup,totally fine. A-OK.”

“You’re breathing too fast…”

“Just stop talking, Peter. It’s alright.”

“No, I-I think you’re having a panic attack-“

Damn, the kid wassmart.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t know how to help, I’m sorry!”

Dizzy…

“Shit. Mr. Stark-“

Tony almost wanted to correct the kid on his choice of language,but seeing as how couldn’t even breathe properly at the moment, he decided tolet it slide- just this one time.

He felt shaky hands guiding his own away from his face, hehadn’t realized they had moved up there.

“Breathe with me, Mr. Stark, please… In and out…”

The kid sounded worried, which made Tony worry more. Oh god, Peter just please stop worrying.

“Tony!”

Hearing his first name being shouted from the kid’s mouthsnapped Tony out of his trance.

“You need to breathe, okay? Breathe with me. Please.” Theteen’s voice was pleading and desperate.

He heard Peter take an exaggerated breath in, held it for afew seconds then let it out, obviously wanting Tony to follow suit.

Tony attempted to copy the motion of breathing, drawing in adeep breath and holding- just like Peter did.

“That’s, uh… That’s really good, Mr. Stark. Just… Just keepbreathing okay?”

Tony nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on breathingwhile listening to Peter’s soothing voice. He jumped back to alertness as ahand gently tapped his cheek. “Can you keep your eyes open, Mr. Stark? I don’twant you falling asleep, we learned in my health science class that you shouldkeep concussion victims awake, so…” His voice was shaking.

“Pete.”

“Mr. Stark?”

“I’m going to be fine, I’m okay now. I can breathe. Thishappens… Way too often.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. You did a good job, kid. Helping me. Now why don’tyou take a minute to calm down yourself?”

Peter nodded, noticing his hands were shaking wildly. “Uh,Karen- my suit lady- told me that help is coming. I guess it’s a good thing youput that tracker in my suit, right?”

“Hey, I’m a genius with genius ideas.”

Tony lied back, supporting his weight on his elbows. All he wanted to do was sleep…

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“So, reading minds is now a part of your spidey powers now,huh?”

“What?” Peter arched his eyebrows.

“Never mind. Don’t worry, kid. I’m not going to sleep. Ijust need to relax. I don’t know how much you know about panic attacks, butthey can really drain a person.”

Peter nodded. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess.”

“You can’t blame yourself for something that a bunch oflow-life asshole criminals did, besides-“

Tony was cut off by the sound of sniffling. He looked overto the teen. “Peter? You okay?”

The teen quickly wiped away the tears with his sleeve. “Nah,I’m good.” He forced a smile.

“Are you crying?” Tony frowned.

“No…”

“You better not be lying to me again.”

A heavy sigh escaped Peter’s lips. “I was just worried. Ithought you weren’t going to wake up, Mr. Stark. They hit you really hard. Iwas scared, I’m sorry-“

Tony shut up the kid’s rambling by bringing him into a tightembrace. “I’m okay kiddo. I’m fine. We’re fine. It’s all going to be fine.”

They sat like that for several minutes, wrapped in a hugthat offered a comforting amount of warmness for both of them.

It was only interrupted by the sound of footsteps approachingthe cell, and breaking down the door. Tony instinctively put an arm in front ofPeter, protecting him from the possible threat. They both let out a sigh ofrelief when a familiar face appeared in front of them.

“Tony, Peter, you two alright?” The concerned voice of SteveRogers asked.

“Well, Cap. Not going to lie, we both feel pretty shitty.But thank God you took your sweet old time getting over here to rescue us.”

Tony brought his arm away from Peter, attempting to stand upwhile wincing in pain. Peter quickly got to his feet to help his mentor. “Hehas a concussion and some broken ribs.” Peter relayed the information to theirrescuer.

“And he’s got a dislocated shoulder.” Tony shot backimmediately. “Don’t let him try to convince you he’s fine.”

“I already feel it healing, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re still getting checked out. No arguing.”

Peter rolled his eyes as Steve moved forward to help themwalk out. “Natasha and Clint are outside. Scott and Wanda found the criminals,they were planning to ambush the building once help arrived. They have themapprehended.”

“I still can’t believe they managed to take us down in thefirst place, us! We’re Spider-Man and freaking Ironman! I mean, you didn’t haveyour suit, but still, Mr. Stark, I should’ve-“

“Kid.” Tony shut him up once again. “Do you ever stoptalking?”

Peter blushed. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Peter, can it with the Mr.Stark stuff. Just call me Tony, okay? I think we’re close enough now if weweren’t before.”

“Right… Um, Tony?” The name sounded so uncomfortable leavingthe kid’s mouth.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“We’ll totally kick ass next time.”

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